Little Boy Blue
by Neocolai
Summary: Ordinary zoologists study hippopotamuses, not hippocampuses. But when a kid in a blue coat shows up at the New York Bank with a case full of coloring pencils and a stuffed niffler, Jacob Kowalski thinks he almost could believe in magic. (Tooth rotting fluff with tiny!Newt and Jacob being awesome)
1. The Lost One

The inspiration for this story began when I was writing Mercy, but since Mercy took so long to write I waited until the entire story was finished this time before posting chapters. This ficlet is complete and will be updated as chapters are edited.

 **Neocolai does not own Fantastic Beasts, or a niffler... Not sure which is more tragic...**

* * *

Nothing ever happened in New York City. Sure, it was considered the land of opportunity: tourists dropped by every few weeks and immigrants flocked to the bustling enterprises, but nothing _happened_ in New York. Leastwise, that's what Jacob Kowalski figured. Working in a canning factory day in and day out tended to dampen one's perspective of the homeland.

Not that life was all that bad, Jacob considered. He had a possible future (if he could just get that loan), he and Mildred would be married in a few months, and he earned enough at his job to keep a small apartment in the heart of the city. Things could be worse. He could be sitting out on the walks with an empty cap. He could be one of many unnamed faces buried in a shallow trench. Jacob had seen war. Really, his lot could be worse.

Still, he hoped to see himself get out of this dump and into a better place; one where he could bring some cheerfulness to the people around him. No one was unhappy walking out of a bakery - as long as the doughnuts were stocked, at least. Something special like that... it gave a person hope for a better future.

Jacob sure hoped that Mr. Bingley would understand. He'd heard a couple guys in fancy suits talking about "collateral." He hoped it wasn't required for a loan - he didn't even have enough investments to buy Mildred a decent engagement ring. All of that was supposed to come after the bakery's success.

Cracking his suitcase open, Jacob scanned the contents again. His future depended on the banker's generous and sympathetic nature - something he wasn't so sure about after hearing the two suits talking.

"Pardon me, Sir, but can you tell me where to find Makoosa?"

Startling at the business card thrust under his nose, Jacob looked sharply between the card and the kid holding it. Yep, a kid, probably no older than five or six, with tousled ginger curls and intent hazel eyes. He was decked in a bright blue coat that implied his family had a small fortune, but he wasn't old enough yet to flaunt it, given how he clung to a small briefcase with white-knuckled fingers. His other hand trembled as he proffered the card again and asked in a foreign, genteel accent, "Do you know where I can find Makoosa, Sir?"

Squinting at the gold-fonted business card, Jacob mouthed the acronym. M.A.C.U.S.A. Huh. Funny name for a business.

"Sorry, don't know 'em, kid," he answered.

Frustrated, the kid gripped his small case tighter and scanned the faces milling around the bank. He licked his lips anxiously and reread the card to himself.

"You lost?" Jacob wondered.

"M'not lost!" the boy said defensively. "Theseus said I could find him at Makoosa."

"Well, this is a bank," Jacob said dubiously. "You want someone to help you find your parents, kid?"

He didn't have a chance to hear the answer. It was his turn to be interviewed, and the bank's founder didn't like to be kept waiting. Jacob sure hoped the kid found what he was looking for in the meantime.

* * *

Shortly after Jacob trudged out of the bank, shoulders slumped in defeat, he spotted the kid again. The little blue coat was hopping from beggar to businessman, showing everyone his fancy card and inquiring in that gap-toothed lisp about "Makoosa." A young lady in a grey suit and cap was starting to peak an interest in the boy's quest. So was the surliest, most cantankerous woman born of Salem, who curdled every sense of goodwill in New York City.

"What's this, Child?" Mary Lou Barebone asked with tart sweetness, swiftly approaching her perception of a wayward lamb. She bent over the tiny wanderer like an owl examining a stunted rabbit. "Are you lost?"

"Theseus is coming for me," the boy said absolutely. "I'm sp'osed to find him here."

Glancing around the dawdling crowd, Mary Lou said, "Oh? And who is Theseus?"

"My brother," the kid said, stumbling over his 'R's'.

"And what is your name, Child?"

"Newt!" the boy exclaimed proudly, as though he had practiced it long and hard. "Newt'in Art-mus Fido Scm'man'er."

"Scammaner? That's a funny name," Mary Lou commented.

The woman in the grey coat was drawing closer. Jacob bristled, not liking her sudden interest. Of course, he wasn't sure hanging around Mary Lou Barebone was any better. That woman tended to drag kids off the streets and pull them into her cult faster than a person could say, "Burn the witches."

"Hey, maybe we should ask the cops if they know about this Macusa thing," Jacob interceded uneasily, just as Mary Lou announced,

"Well, until you find your brother, why don't you come home with me?"

"Theseus is looking for me," Newt said adamantly.

"He'll find you, don't worry," Mary Lou reassured. "There's lots of people here, you see? They know where to find me, and they know you'll be staying with me until your brother comes to fetch you. Isn't that right?" she asked the crowd.

A few sycophants bobbed their heads. Most people kept walking. After the depression, they just got used to stray kids wandering around. If someone was willing to feed the endless array of stragglers, all the more blessings be upon them.

Anxiously the woman in the grey coat lurched forward. "Mrs. Barebone," she said furtively, "I really think - "

"Tut, tut!" Mary Lou cooed. "He'll be safer with my children than out on the streets. Credence, take Newton's hand. We're going home."

"You can't just - !" Helplessly the woman looked around for someone to advocate her. She bit her lip, as though contemplating something dicey and possibly illegal, then seemed to think better of it. Instead she kept in line with the crowd, craning to watch Mary Lou lead her gaggle away, with one more gosling in tow.

Jacob knew it wasn't his business, but he felt like _someone_ should have intervened. Sending the kid home with Mary Lou Barebone... Not that she was a bad woman, he really didn't know that much about the Barebones, but still... he felt unsettled, like he'd just watched them clap a bluebird in a rusty cage.

He wasn't so good at imagining stuff, but the mental picture was so strong that he swung on his heel and tramped down the bank steps, head down low. The encounter had left a grim pall on an already despondent morning. He was starting to wish he hadn't come to the bank in the first place.

That poor kid.

* * *

Mildred didn't stick around long. Once she learned that the bakery had fallen through, none of Jacob's promises could convince her to wait a few more months. Jacob had thought their love had been for richer or poorer, but now he realized that their level of devotion had been compromised of his generosity and her acceptance. Mildred had never reciprocated his affection.

The thought left him numb and empty. He had lost his bakery and his future wife, and yet neither had truly been his own. They were sawdust dreams; featherlight and useless to the world.

Jacob tried not to think on it the next morning as he packed his briefcase. He wondered if he should start picking up extra shifts again. The work would do him good. One didn't have to think long and hard in a canning factory. He would make up the lost hours from yesterday, maybe put aside a little extra in his savings cup, and try not to think about what could have been.

It seemed ironic, or perhaps Fate would have her way, that Jacob passed by the square on his way to work. The Barebone children were there, in their plain, woolen coats and scuffed shoes. The little blue coat stood out among them like a brilliant butterfly in a gravel path.

Jacob stopped, perplexed at his own hesitancy. The boy was in a decent place - Jacob knew that the kids in Mary Lou's court were dressed and fed - and he was standing out in public where any family members could easily find him, but the picture seemed wrong. Newt held a small, crumpled stack of pamphlets in his fist, his expression that of unhappy bewilderment. His eyes flicked around as Mary Lou rallied her small band of spectators, as though he wanted to say something but thought better of it. One cheek had a faint, unnatural blush that rankled Jacob, although he wasn't sure what made it stand out to him. It was a chilly morning, after all.

Chastity held Newt's free hand in a firm grip. For such a small boy it was a marvel that he wasn't wriggling with impatience. But then, all of Mary Lou's children were unusually well behaved.

"Witches are among us!" Mary Lou carried on, her voice peeling that fabled lecture which most of the regular crowds had memorized by now. "Take heed, and beware, my friends!"

Jacob's attention was pulled back to the newest member of Mary Lou's small force. Newt was avidly biting his lip - a nervous habit he had never exhibited when he was searching for a missing brother the day before. His bright, inquisitive fearlessness had been dampened like a kitten stuck under a drainpipe.

Vaguely recalling that he needed to keep walking if he wasn't going to be late, Jacob reluctantly turned away. The kid would be fine. None of Mary Lou's children went hungry, and besides, his brother was actively looking for him.

No one would leave a kiddo like that alone in New York City, after all.

Would they?

* * *

He didn't see Newt the next day.

Or the day after that.

* * *

A week after the kid first showed up in the bank, the Barebones appeared on the square again. Funny, Jacob had never taken much notice of them before. Now he honed in on that band of ragamuffins, looking for the telltale coat.

Newt wasn't wearing it.

The peacock attire had been replaced by a worn brown jacket, suitable for crisp fall mornings and little orphan boys. As if Mary Lou had already proclaimed that no family was coming to reclaim her newest convert. Disgruntled, Jacob glanced around the square, wondering if anyone else noticed the change - or even cared. Businessmen and secretaries brushed past him. A mother of three yapped for her children to keep up. Who would even bother to take note of one more curly-haired pup?

Shaking his head, Jacob turned back to the kid. There was a definite shyness that he hadn't seen when Newt was holding on to Chastity. Grubby, bandaged fingers twisted a sizable stack of pamphlets, but the boy wasn't handing them out. He stared at his scuffed shoes, marring them further by dragging them across the pavement. His curls had been flattened and neatly combed back. The tidiness offset his glum pout.

For a second Jacob contemplated how the boy resembled Credence. The hunched shoulders and quivering, broody silence... But then Jacob shook his head. _Broody_ did not describe little Newt. The kid was more like an anxious sparrow trying not to burst into song.

That truly was a sad comparison.

A shifting of grey drew Jacob's attention to another observer. The lady in the grey coat and hat was hovering again. She caught Jacob's eye and he glimpsed despair before she turned up her coat collar, obviously trying to avoid notice. Who was she hiding from?

"Here. Here."

Paper tapped at against Jacob's elbow. He looked down to see a little girl with looped braids prodding him with one of the pamphlets.

"Oh, uh... yeah." On impulse Jacob accepted it, and the child grinned. What did Mary Lou teach those kids to make them so darn cheerful about her cult?

"My momma, your momma, witches gonna die," the girl sang softly to herself, skipping up to the next hapless loiterer. She passed by Newt and Jacob saw a quick spasm crossing the boy's face.

The kid looked frozen to the cobblestones. His pamphlets drooped in his trembling hands, until Credence nudged his elbow and tugged out one paper, indicating that Newt should pass them along.

Ash stole the color in the boy's cheeks.

Credence sighed. "Just pass them out, Newton," Jacob heard him murmur. "She'll hold supper again if you don't."

And right then Jacob realized he should've known all along that something was terribly wrong with the Barebone household.

* * *

He waited until Mary Barebone personally attended the square again. Once she had finished her speech, Jacob approached from the thinning crowd.

"You've attended many of our meetings, Friend," Mary Lou said as she caught his eye. "Are you seeking answers?"

Jacob fumbled. "I... actually, I'm just wondering about the kid," he said awkwardly.

Mary Lou searched her goslings until she tracked Jacob's attention to Newt. "Do you mean our Newton?" she asked. Her smile turned benign. "Well, you needn't worry over our littlest one. He is sheltered in our fold, far away from the treacherous wolves."

"Uh..." Baffled, Jacob clarified, "I mean, didn't his family come looking for him?"

Mary Lou's expression was stone. "We do not speak of those heretics. Those thieves in the graveyard. Those wolves among the sheep."

"Yeah, you mentioned wolves," Jacob commented, scratching behind his ear.

"They do not deserve this child," Mary Lou said, her voice rising in intensity. "They filled his vulnerable mind with black magic and sorcery. His proclaimed brother was a practitioner of the dark arts! I would not surrender any child to their wicked paths."

From the sudden perk in Newt's stance as he craned to peek around Credence, the boy didn't seem to think his brother was all that wicked.

"Ah, come on," Jacob said with a sheepish chuckle. "There ain't no such thing as sorcerers." He looked around, hoping someone would catch on and back him up.

Mary Lou's expression closed in disdain. "You don't think I know how to care for special children," she declared.

"I think you're pulling a bad judgment," Jacob said, astounded by his own boldness. "Somebody's gotta be missing that kid."

"Well, Mister..."

"Kowalski," Jacob filled in.

"Kowalski," Mary Lou said contemplatively. "Well, that simply isn't your call to make, now is it?"

A few words, and the most cantankerous woman in New York City had just swept his argument under the rug and wiped her hands clean. The few listeners glared at Jacob and shook their heads. Gawking, Jacob watched them tuck their hats and hurry away. Did nobody think this was wrong?

"Is there anything else?" Mary Lou said acidly.

"No, Ma'am," Jacob said with equal coolness.

So nobody was backing him. Fine. He wasn't finished with Mary Lou Barebone yet.

Somebody had to help that poor kid.

* * *

Nightfall in New York City was never truly dark. Even the back alleys had one or two lamp posts. Jacob hadn't played burglar since he was two feet tall, but old skills had stayed with him. It took a darn good bit of sneaking to filch a pinch of sugar under his grandmother's watchful eye.

Tonight he was risking his life in what he hoped the cops wouldn't write up as professional kidnapping. But then, who plucked a foreign kid off the streets and called that "charitable adoption?" Crime control in New York City was seriously messed up.

Jacob crossed himself and whispered a quick prayer, all the same.

He needn't have worried about the whole breaking and entering bit, however. He was standing a few houses down from the Barebone cottage, rubbing his clammy hands and wondering what idiot notion had dragged him here in the middle of the night, when the window shutters creaked and a small body slipped out.

Furtively the tiny shadow looked around before heaving something over the windowsill. He wrapped his arms around it and ducked as Mary Lou's voice drifted from the upstairs.

"Newton? Newton Barebone, you come when I call you!"

"Newt!" Jacob hissed hardly believing his good fortune. He stepped halfway into the lamp light and beckoned. "Come on, kid! Over here!"

There was a moment of hesitancy, as though choosing between two possible evils, before Newt scurried over to the less dreadful sort. His small case was clasped against his chest and the familiar blue coat was draped over one arm. Shushing, Jacob tucked the boy behind him and gestured up the road, following quickly behind.

It wasn't kidnapping, technically. He was just helping the boy abscond from a terrible woman.

By his sainted grandmother and all of his aunts, what was he getting himself into?


	2. The Harmless One

**For those who already read the previous Ch.2, this is technically Ch.3. The original Ch.2 was combined with Ch.1, bringing this down from a series of short chapters to the Mini-Fic that I intended it to be.**

 **Many thanks to those who reviewed on the previous chapters!**

* * *

"It's my case," Newt lisped ferociously, clutching the battered suitcase to himself. The declaration might have seemed fiercer if the boy hadn't just crammed half a stale cinnamon roll into his mouth.

Holding up his hands, Jacob relented. "Just thought maybe you'd want to put it on the table or something. Did you want some milk with that?"

Suspicions forgotten, Newt sucked glaze frosting off of his fingers and nodded. He dawdled his feet in the air, scarfing down the rest of the cinnamon roll while Jacob set a pan of milk on the stove. (His grandmother always warmed it when he was little.)

Grubby fingers latched onto the chipped ceramic mug as soon as it was filled. Slurping appreciatively at the warm drink, Newt stared at Jacob over the mug's rim. The child instinctively trusted. His curiosity overwhelmed all fear.

"So..." Sinking into the other chair, Jacob shrugged uncertainly. He hadn't thought about what he would do with a lost kid. He just sort of ... acted on impulse. "Any idea where to find this Theseus?"

Immediately Newt's eyes glowed and he looked around as though expecting his brother to stroll out of the adjacent room. For all that Mary Lou had tried to drive the magic out of him, he seemed undaunted by the accusations against his family.

"Theseus _is_ coming back, isn't he?" Jacob asked queasily.

The boy nodded, fully confident in his older sibling. Jacob carded a hand through his hair. Of course. How could he expect a five-year-old to reason like an adult and anticipate possible changes in circumstances?

"Okay, so... We'll find him," Jacob established, unsure what else to say. "Or he'll find you. Either way, you need a place to sleep for the night."

On cue, Newt opened his mouth in a gaping yawn and rubbed his eyes.

"Right," Jacob said, chuckling softly. "I guess we can put something together for just one night."

The bed was kind of small for two to share. Jacob considered and immediately discarded the notion of padding the sitting chair. There was the option of setting up a sort of padding in the cupboard, but that ruled against his grandmother's idea of hospitality. Resigning himself to sleeping on the floor, Jacob decided to sacrifice the bed for one night.

He returned to the living room, only to find that Newt had already resolved his own sleeping quarters. A plaid blanket had been quietly slipped from the bed. A checkered cloth no longer draped the maplewood dining table. Jacob's heavy winter coat had been purloined from the hatstand, and three pairs of socks seemed to have walked themselves out of a drawer.

"Aw, kid," Jacob groaned, as he saw the boy snuggling into Mildred's abandoned laundry basket. "You don't have to sleep in there. Come on; there's a bed in the next room. The chair's more comfortable for me anyways."

"S'my nest," Newt said unflappably. "I'm a demiguise."

"A demagus?" Jacob repeated incredulously.

"Demi- _gize_ ," Newt stressed.

Jacob tried not to think too hard about five-year-olds and their unpronounceable imaginary animals. "Don't you want to sleep in a bed?" he insisted. "It's probably more comfortable."

"No," the boy stated with stoic fervor. He wound his arms around his battered case and stubbornly jutted out his chin.

"Okay then," Jacob acceded, not sure if it was worth arguing further. "How about we put your case on the floor, though. It'll be safe there until - "

" _No!"_ Panic sheared through hazel eyes as Newt bundled the black leather to himself.

Or rather, _blackened_ leather, Jacob realized with dismay. A chill ran down his spine as he looked at the tarnished bronze edges.

Mary Lou couldn't have. Nobody was _that_ cruel.

"Did she put that on the hearth?" Jacob asked softly.

Blinking fiercely, Newt fiddled with the case's broken clasp. His bandaged fingers testified the price he had paid to rescue his small treasures.

"Aw, kid." His joints protesting, Jacob lowered himself to his knees and craned his neck so that the boy would meet his eyes. "I promise, I won't touch your things. You're safe here, okay?"

Tremulous eyes were unconvinced. Heaving another deep sigh, Jacob went to the kitchen and rummaged around until he found a suitable, large pot. He flipped it upside down and settled it beside the boy's "nest."

"There. How's that? You can put your case up here and it'll be right at your fingertips," Jacob offered. "No one will take it; I swear on my grandmother's paczki recipe."

Dubiously Newt stared him down. Jacob felt as though his very merit was being weighed as the child pondered his compromise. At last Newt reluctantly opened his case and rummaged around, pulling out a soft plush toy. He kissed its nose and tucked it under his chin before setting his case on the makeshift "table."

"There, that wasn't so bad," Jacob said calmingly. "Cute... bear you've got there." It looked more like a short-tailed monkey with a duck's bill and webbed paws. Where did people even find these oddities for children? "What's his name? Or is it a she?"

"Pudsey," Newt murmured, winding both arms around the toy. He blinked heavily, exhausted from a terrible week.

"Huh," Jacob grunted. "Well, you and Pudsey get some sleep, okay? We'll start looking for your brother in the morning."

He wondered if the boy still had his M.A.C.U.S.A. card, or if that had been scorched along with the case. The thought of Mary Lou throwing a small child's belongings into the fire set Jacob's teeth on edge. He breathed deeply, slowly unclenching his fists. He needed to find another adult to help out - someone who wouldn't call the cops, or send the boy back to the Barebones. He needed someone who wouldn't scare off Newt.

Maybe it was time to call on an old army friend.

…

Bill Clydsdey, or Ol' Bill as he was referred to by many of New York's forsaken and penniless, was the sort of person who remembered every patient he ever tended, and occasionally forgot to put on his shoes before leaving the house. He had a lean, weedy frame, with thinning fair hair and clomping number fourteen shoes. Often poor in pocket - for most of his wages were paid in tearful thanks and home goods - he was a bit of a loner in the middle class, but well loved by those who could barely afford milk and coffee.

The doctor cast no more than a cursory, raised eyebrow glance at the blue coat hovering behind Jacob's legs before he muttered, "Wretched woman," and set down his black bag.

"I'm not an al'gater, kiddo," Bill said amicably to the small boy, whipping out a toffee for Newt and a spare which he offered to Pudsey. "I'm an animal doctah. Mind if I have a looksie at that poor blighter? I suspects he's running a slight temperature."

Wide-eyed, Newt critically examined Pudsey. "He's not sick."

"Ah, but ya can't tell from the surface, now can ya?" Hooking his stethoscope around Newt's ears, he pressed the bell against the stuffed toy's stomach. "Ya hear that?"

"Uh-uh," Newt said.

"Ah, but I can," Bill said, placing the tips in his own ears and resting the bell against Newt's chest. "It's just like your 'eartbeat, only a mere thrum. He's a scuffling creature, see now. Has tah be able tah breathe waaaaay underground."

"Pudsey's not a burrower!" Newt said, affronted. He seemed to be oblivious of Bill's prodding fingers as his ears and nose were tilted and examined. "He's a niffler. He takes coins."

"Ah-hah. Best be watching my pockets, eh?" Bill started to upturn Newt's hands, and paused when the boy yelped. "Ah. I see. That carnitory, thrice bedanged she-vixen."

Jacob cleared his throat. "Bill," he warned before the doctor could concoct any more dastardly phrases.

"Don't mollywhallop me, Kowalski," Bill said in a low growl, gently unwinding strips of cloth from Newt's raw hands. He cursed under his breath. "She whip you elsewhere, kiddo?"

Newt stoically shook his head. His brave little soldier face could not stop the tears from trickling down his cheeks as Bill spread salve over the stinging welts on each palm.

"What 'appened to yer fingers," Bill wondered. "That ain't from the strap."

"My case," Newt whispered. "I pulled it out."

"She thought it was witchcraft," Jacob explained briefly. He knew Bill would catch the implication.

"One day I'll see her in irons fer the way she beats those young'uns," Bill swore. "Wretched woman! Coppers don't listen to an ol' donkey like me."

Shortly afterwards, he shooed Jacob out of the room to make coffee. His soft voice drifted to the kitchen, cajoling brief and unfettered replies from his little patient. _Does that hurt? Did she clap yah over the ears? Were y'scared of the other young'uns? Did'ja eat fairly oft?_

Ol' Bill had a miraculous way with kids. Jacob wasn't all that surprised when he returned ten minutes later with two mugs of coffee, a warm milk, and a plate of danishes, and saw Bill lounging back in a chair with Wednesday's newspaper, while Newt lay on his stomach across the room, avidly coloring something with blue and purple coils. Pudsey was tucked securely under the boy's arm, and he was wearing Bill's stethoscope, with the bell jammed firmly underneath his stuffed toy. His suitcase was an open catastrophe of coloring pencils, several books, a bright yellow scarf, three curious spinning tops that roved incessantly, a crumpled bird's nest, a long pink feather, two exquisitely crafted toy dragons, half of what looked like a silver eggshell, a score of smooth river rocks, a few crumpled clothing articles, and some smashed sweets.

"He's an odd cat," Bill commented, not looking up from his paper. "Picked up that pencil and paper like he'd never seen a scratch on his hands. He'll be fine. A few nicks an' bumps, but he ain't limpin' or favorin' a limb, an' his eyes are clear. Keep him quiet an' let him rest a few days, an' he'll be good as a new colt in summer."

"Any ideas on where to start looking for his family?" Jacob asked. "You know people, Bill. Somebody's gotta be missing him."

"I ain't heard none sich yet," Bill said, "Although Mary Lou's gonna be rum off her rocker if one of her wee lambs is amiss. Keep yah head in the bunker a few nights, Jake. Best not to be trundling 'cross town with that shifty shrew nosin' about. She'll send her young'uns to retrieve him, mark mah words."

"I will," Jacob promised. "And thanks."

He reached for his billfold, only to be stopped as Bill grimly shook his head.

"Heard about the bank runnin' yah off," he said. "Rum awful shame. No, I ain't short on funds, Kowalski, an' I don't charge for young'uns that some sherani tried tah beat in. Heaven knows I've been called on for her own poor kits a time or two. No, just send me off with a loaf or two o' tha' doughy English bread next time I'm by here. An' another one'o these fine pastries," he added sheepishly, holding out his empty plate.

"Bill, I'm not poor," Jacob said with miffed pride. "Let me give you something."

Scratching the rough stubble on his chin, Bill reconsidered. "Well, thar's a mite'o a young girl wha' just had a breach none two days ago," he said. "Funds've been tough an' she needs some good beef jelly. I'll take a wee amount, jist enough to see her strong an' hale."

Rolling his eyes, Jacob forked out a generous wad of bills - enough for the groceries with some extra. Good Ol' Bill... always putting his patients before his own comforts.

"Put tha' salve on his burns every morning an' night," Bill instructed, sent packing with a slightly fuller wallet and five raspberry danishes. "Make sure tah nap him, an' feed him fairly often. Young'uns tire easy, but ye'll have yer hands full when he's at his peak."

"I think I can take care of a kid," Jacob assured him. "It's just for a couple days, after all."

"Uh-huh," Bill said dryly. "Yah know my number, Kowalski. Good luck."

"Thanks, Bill!" Jacob called after him. He closed the door, chuckling to himself. Ol' Bill, always worrying himself over kids. How hard could it be to look after one small child?

He strolled into the living room just in time to witness the great flight of Newt the Dragon, as the boy launched himself, roaring, from the kitchen table to the overhead light fixings.

The following conflagration involved a tipped chair, a battered Jacob who had used said chair as a stand-point to reach the little dragon, and a furious, shrieking five-year-old who had been interrupted in his favorite play. A couple of bruised egos, one chair in the corner, and three hours of broody silence that dragged on even after Newt was allowed to go free, and Jacob was just shy of asking Bill if he knew a kindly mother who was more capable of handling active young'uns.

He decided to wait until after supper, hoping that a bit of solid comfort food would appease Newt's sulken attitude. It had always worked on him when he was a kid. Glancing up from the generously garnished cabbage, potatoes and sausage simmering on the stove, Jacob realized that the boy had fallen asleep amidst a pile of his colorings - all of them nasty, angry dragons (as he had announced vengefully after he was released from the corner). Shaking his head, Jacob pondered letting him sleep, and decided that food took precedence. The kid could go back to bed in a couple of hours.

Newt perked up mildly at the notion of food, but he only nibbled at the sausage and speared at his cabbage, insisting that it be exchanged for more potatoes. Picky eater, huh? Well, it was eat or go hungry in the Kowalski household, Jacob proclaimed.

Unfortunately, Newt seemed to be the sort to willingly starve himself if the vittles weren't appealing. Hands in the air, Jacob finally gave in. Potatoes it was for the miniature dragon. He would only be staying for a couple of days, anyways.

Immediately after supper Newt hauled himself into Jacob's chair and flapped open one of his books. He flipped the pages aimlessly, glancing periodically at his weary guardian, until Jacob took the hint.

"After I clean up," he said. "Want to help me with the dishes?"

Much to his bewilderment, Newt practically bounded off the chair, eagerly accepting the drying cloth. This couldn't be the same kid who had been gnashing his teeth after being told to sit still for ten minutes. Noting to himself that bribery seemed to endure cooperation, Jacob showed the boy how to dry without dropping any plates, then let him sort out the clean silverware. As soon as the last dish was in the cupboard, Newt scurried back to the chair.

"Babbitt Rabbity!" he crowed, clapping his hands.

"Babbity what?" Jacob echoed.

Newt held up a thin children's book and wriggled over until he was practically sliding off of the chair. The minute Jacob sat down, the child sidled into his lap.

"Babbity Rabbity," Newt cooed wonderingly, opening the book to the first page.

"Babbity Rabbity and the Cackling Stump," Jacob read. What an odd title. He looked at the cover picture, which featured a rabbit carrying a wand in its mouth. "Uh, is that a magic wand it's got there?"

"Read!" Newt wheedled.

Flipping through the pages, Jacob began to understand why Mary Lou had tried to burn the kid's suitcase. This was a _children's_ book?

"S'not wicked," Newt said glumly, correctly interpreting Jacob's hesitation. The child gently fingered one of the torn pages. Someone had probably wrenched the book out of his hand.

Sighing, Jacob put aside his unease and flipped to the first page. "Okay. Babbity Rabbity and the - wait, am I pronouncing this right?"

...

Jacob didn't know about wizards, but there was definitely something magical about a child falling asleep in his arms. He tucked Newt into his nest with Pudsey, (whom he found in a high cupboard guarding the cookie jar), and gathered all of the kid's drawings into his case. Newt's brow creased in his sleep, until he reached out and felt the sooty leather under his fingertips. Murmuring unintelligibly, the boy burrowed his head under the plaid blanket and began to snore softly.

Jacob watched for a few minutes, marveling at the child's simple trust. A week of trauma with Mary Lou had done nothing to curb the boy's natural inquisitiveness, or his fascination with magic. If only Mildred had shared that same forgiving spirit.

Then again, Mildred would never have tolerated a child in the house. Lately she had voiced her misgivings about having children at all. Perhaps things were better off this way.

Yawning widely, Jacob decided to do a little reading for himself before he tucked into bed. He had a feeling that he'd better take advantage of an hour's peace and quiet.

Tomorrow would undoubtedly carry its own formula of chaos and mayhem.

…

Newt sprang from his nest quite early the next morning. Jacob wasn't sure how long the kid had been up, but by the time he shambled out of bed at 5:35 he found a grand mess in the kitchen. Cupboards were laid open, the silverware drawer had been gutted, the icebox was ajar, and the remaining cinnamon rolls had long since been reduced to crumbs. Jacob almost thought he had been robbed, until he heard clinking in the living room and crept around the corner, to see little Newt weaving forks and knives into his rag basket.

"Whoah, whoah!" Jacob said, raising a hand to his head. "What is it this time? Is that - is that a treasure hoard? It's a treasure hoard, right?" It had to be _something_ to do with dragons.

Beaming, Newt grabbed a double handful of spoons and dumped them into the basket. "Pudsey needs a nest!"

"With spoons?" Oh, it was too early for this. Glancing at the stove, Jacob exclaimed, "Did you take the coffee pot, too?"

Newt tilted his head with a little frown, then rummaged in the right side of the basket. Jacob heard more clinking underneath the muddle of coats and cloths, before Newt triumphantly yanked out the tin pot.

"I need a spoon, too," Jacob insisted, beckoning with one hand.

With an aimless shrug Newt passed it along, before grabbing his stuffed toy and lunging head-first into the mess of shiny, pointy objects. "Ow!"

"What do you expect," Jacob muttered. He made a mental note to hide all of his sharp knives and scissors. Thank heavens the butter knives were dulled to the point of harmlessness for small, unfettered children.

Rummaging in the kitchen, he located the mugs and plates where they were meant to be. His iron skillet sat on the stovetop, but all gleaming pots had been confiscated for Newt's new play. "What exactly is Pudsey supposed to be?" Jacob asked, trying to remember what Bill had mentioned about shiny objects.

Newt giggled, as though he thought the question was quite silly. "Pudsey's a niffler!"

"Is that supposed to mean that he likes stealing kitchen wares?" Jacob inquired. Yup, his measuring spoons were missing, too. "Because Pudsey's not getting any flapjacks until I get my measuring cups back!"

That got the kid's attention. "What's a flapjack?" he asked, sprawled upside down in his merry little nest, with Pudsey braced high above his head.

"You know, hotcakes," Jacob said. "Kind of like crepes. Thin, circlely, cake-like things you fry on a griddle?"

"Pancakes?" Newt asked gleefully.

"Yeah, whatever they're called," Jacob muttered.

Rolling out of his nest, Newt scurried into the kitchen. "Now? For breakfast?"

"Not without those measuring spoons," Jacob clarified.

Boy, that kid could book it when he was properly motivated. Not knowing which spoons were for measuring ingredients, Newt showered an array of silverware - from soup spoons to skimmers - onto the table for Jacob's inspection. Figuring that any unclaimed spoons would return promptly to the nest, Jacob rescued his ladle and a few other cooking utensils along with the measuring devices. Newt followed him into the kitchen, peering over the countertop as Jacob measured out flour and sugar.

"Theseus doesn't make it like that," Newt commented.

"Oh really," Jacob said, raising one eyebrow. "And how does Theseus make flapjacks - er, pancakes?"

Opening his mouth, Newt hesitated, then frowned. "I dunno. We have a house elf."

"A _what?_ Never mind," Jacob said hastily. As nice as it would be for the kid to play something household, which to Jacob implied scrubbing the floors and sweeping ash out of the hearth, he didn't want to risk another imagination disaster, which could imply his good towels being used to clean the toilet, or toothpaste supplementing soap.

"It's bubbling," Newt commented, watching the flapjacks with the intensity he gave Babbity-Rabbit.

"Yup," Jacob said, expertly flipping the golden-brown circles. "You might want to ask Pudsey for a couple of forks."

Seriously Newt regarded his ever-present stuffed toy. After a moment he answered, "Pudsey says it's okay. Just three though."

Asserting his fine-tuned math skills, the child brought five forks to the table.

Breakfast was casual, seeing as the tablecloth was bundled into Newt's makeshift bed and Jacob had put away the good china after the great dragon affair, but there was no British lord at his table, and the scarred wood suffered little from the honey that dripped off of Newt's fingers. The child ate with gusto, appreciatively slurping the remaining crumbs and honey from his plate, and promptly left the table when he had finished to clean the sticky residue off of Pudsey's nose. He did not volunteer to wash his plate and mug.

"Kids," Jacob muttered, gathering the few dishes and the skillet. He heard a rattling clatter in the living room, implying that Newt had tumbled into his "niffler nest" to stay. He wondered how long it would be before he could restock his cabinet drawers again.

The thought brought on another concern - filling in his hours at the canning factory. Jacob had already decided to call off for the next couple days, claiming he was taking charge of his sister's kid while she was ill (a dubious lie, but the foreman had taken it), but he couldn't afford to lose any more work. The extra hours he had picked up after Mildred's departure would help cover what he was losing now. After that….

He couldn't imagine not finding the kid's brother before then. If not, well, perhaps Bill would let Newt stay at his house during the day. Knowing Bill's hours, he wouldn't even be around half of the time, but Jacob had been running all over the city at that age, and Newt would be more entertained in a bigger house than cooped up in his small flat.

Satisfied with his plan, Jacob finished drying the dishes and put the cooking utensils in a high cupboard out of niffler reach. He was already thinking of ways to keep an overimaginative five-year-old occupied indoors. It wouldn't be easy.

A thousand curses be upon Mary Lou Barebone and the rest of her brood. Idly Jacob wished that sorcerers were real, and he could invoke his own special misfortunes on the nefarious woman. She deserved to be hung by her ankles for a few hours. Or maybe dragged through a tar pit and then a chicken yard.

Amused by his own barbaric schemes, Jacob poured himself another mug of coffee and trailed into the living room.

Where, of course, Newt had tired of his niffler play and was loudly declaring nonsensical gibberish as he waved a butter knife in the air.


	3. The Insightful One

On the third day after taking in Newt, Jacob dared to sneak the kid out for a bit of fresh air. Newt had created a dragon nest that morning, which meant that all of the silverware had to be fished out of the stairwell cupboard, and there was sufficient roaring to incite the neighbors to start asking questions.

Newt the Dragon allowed himself to be led down a side street far east of the Barebones' square, where he growled fiercely at every alley cat and then skittered over to pet the mangy creatures and assure them that he didn't mean to be scary. After the fifth filthy feline was coddled, Jacob suggested that Newt play niffler for a while and turned a blind eye to the bottle caps and brass buttons that found their way into the child's pockets. Hey, he'd made the kid leave Pudsey at home. He might as well let him bring back a few shiny things to add to the general clutter in the laundry basket.

They stopped at a hot dog vendor, where Newt asked for a bun, "But only with sauce, please." Further questioning revealed he was only interested in the catsup, which he promptly spat out upon tasting.

"That's not sauce!" Newt grumbled, mashing his bun into small, marble-sized chunks and tossing them to a lop-eared mutt that was happily trailing after the food. "That's sweet!"

"Okay, fine!" Jacob said, rolling his eyes. "What _do_ you like to eat?"

"Chippers?" Newt chirped.

"No idea what that is."

Newt heaved a great sigh and stuffed the rest of the hot dog bun into the dog's mouth as it braced its paws on his shoulders.

"That thing is not coming home with us," Jacob warned.

He managed to lose the dog by sneaking home in a cab. Newt stared forlornly out the window, a "sad, sad mooncalf" in his own words. It seemed to be the most miserable comparison in his five-year-old dictionary, given the way he let out a heartfelt sigh with every passing block.

True to form, he forgot his sorrow the minute they reached a small park. Launching himself out of the cab, Newt dashed in a flurry of blue fabric - not to the seesaw and slide - but to the bushes and outlying trees, where he scrambled up a sturdy oak before Jacob could even pay the cab fare.

"Aw, you gotta be kidding - hey, kid! Get down from there!"

"No!" Newt yelled back. "I'm finding fwoopers!"

"There aren't any fwoopers in New York!" Jacob hollered. He looked around queasily. The noise was fast drawing the attention of a strolling couple. "Newt!" he hissed. "Come down this instant!"

"No!"

The blue coat slipped just out of Jacob's sight. Agitatedly he rubbed a hand over his face. Oh, that kid. One of these days he would give him a light slap on the rear and send him off to Bill's house…. Anxiously Jacob craned his neck and listened to the faint snapping of twigs, waiting for the looming crash that would imply a plummeting, suddenly very sorry child.

All too soon his suspicions were confirmed. A piercing, hawkish shriek was followed by Newt's piercing scream, before a flailing bundle of blue cloth smashed through the upper branches.

"Theseus!" Newt screeched. "Catch me!"

"I gotcha! I gotcha!" Flinging out his arms, Jacob caught up the wailing child and swept him in. He gasped, clutching Newt to himself as thin sobs were muffled against his chest. "Easy. Easy, kid. I gotcha. Everything's okay."

"It bit me!" Newt exclaimed, outrage overwhelming his tears. He held up his bleeding finger for Jacob to inspect. "I just wanted a feather!"

"What did you expect?" Jacob huffed, aghast. "Newt, what did I tell you about climbing that tree?"

"Just wanted a feather," Newt grumbled, focusing on his bloody finger.

"Augh - you know what, no more trees," Jacob declared, yanking out his handkerchief and pressing it over the wound. He peeked under the cloth and sighed in relief. "It's hardly bleeding. What did you think would happen if you poked around in an eagle's nest?"

"Fwooper," Newt said miserably.

Jacob rolled his eyes. "There are no fwoopers in North America." Or anywhere in the world, for that matter. "Why don't you play something on the ground - safely. Be a mooncalf for a while, okay? At least those are quieter…."

They had garnered quite a bit of attention from the fall. Sheepishly Jacob grinned and waved at a scowling, elderly woman. She shook her head and jabbed her cane in his direction before trotting down the path. Letting his breath out in a whoosh, Jacob turned back to Newt -

Only to see the little tramp lunging over rocks and fallen branches, waving a pointy stick in the air.

"Epallarmus! Ridiclus! Babbity Rabbity!"

"Oh, no." Breaking into a lope, Jacob tore after the child. He grabbed for the toy wand and snatched it out of Newt's hand. The boy howled.

"It's mine!"

"No playing wizard!" Jacob whispered fiercely. He crouched beside Newt, gripping his shoulder so that the child was compelled to meet his eyes. "Kid, don't you get it? That lady's still out there. She'll lock you back up if she sees you making up spells!"

"But I can't be a fwooper!" Newt protested. "I can't be a fwooper or fight Grindewhad - you're boring!"

"Can't you be some other animal?" Jacob implored. "Something that runs around or - or plays hide and seek - or does anything else besides magic?"

"Theseus is magic!" Newt shouted, shoving Jacob's hands away. "I'mma gonna go to Hogwarts when I grow up!"

Now people were _really_ staring. Frantic to dissolve the tirade before any of Mary Lou's followers or members of the local church clued in, Jacob hauled the squalling child into his arms and retreated to the disastrous oak tree.

"Look, it's okay! It's okay!" he amended. "You wanna be magic? That's fine. You wanna be a dragon, or a fwooper, or a dinosaur - I won't stop you. Just… don't make up any spells, okay? Please?"

Huffing, Newt crossly folded his arms and kicked at a tree root. "I wanna fight Grindewhad."

 _Don't even ask,_ Jacob warned himself. "Okay. Okay. What kind of beast would fight Grindewaud? I mean, what kind of creature do you think could really beat him?" _Or her. Or it. Just take the bait, kid._

Thoughtfully Newt slung one foot back and forth, until he looked up with an angelic grin. "A thunderbird! Bada-dum! Krrrrsh!"

With that he took off running, flapping his arms and spewing crashing sounds and "Kabooms!" at the top of his lungs. A few children paused at the see-saw as they watched him pelt around the small park. Forgetting their turns, they after him, veering their arms in mimicry and echoing their own "Vrooooom!" and "Pow! Pow! Pow!"

"Airplanes," Jacob realized, nearly giddy with relief. "They think he's playing airplanes."

Finally, the boy had managed to do _something_ with a smidgen of normalcy. Satisfied that Newt would be out of trouble for five minutes, Jacob slumped onto a bench and breathed deeply. One of these days he'd remember what it was like to have a quiet evening, followed by a solitary breakfast.

He wasn't sure he was looking forward to it.

"He's quite a handful, isn't he?"

Popping one eye open, Jacob glanced at the willowy blond perched on the opposite side of the bench. Startled by the unwarranted presence of a charming, absolutely gorgeous feminine figure, he opened his mouth uselessly and managed a faint, "Huh?"

The woman giggled. "It's all right, honey. Most men think the same thing when they see me."

"I… I didn't…." Oh heck, he was babbling in front of a beautiful woman. Flustered, Jacob looked around anxiously for Newt. Who knew what kind of trouble the kid was getting into by now.

"He's okay," the woman reassured him. "He's teaching Abigail how to crow like a thunderbird. Oh, isn't he the sweetest!"

"Uh… I should…." Retrieve the kid, possibly before he convinced every parent in the park that their children had been bewitched or something. He was reluctant to leave the present company, but a woman like that already had to be spoken for by somebody….

"Aw, I'm not taken, sweetie." The woman laughed again, a twinkle of mirth like sleigh bells on Christmas Eve. She held out a delicate, pink-gloved hand. "I'm Queenie. Queenie Goldstein."

Emboldened by her forwardness, Jacob clasped it gently. "Jacob Kowalski."

"That's Newt over there, isn't it?" Queenie established, gesturing to the boy and his followers. "You think he's a strange child, don't you?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Jacob blustered, afraid the lady would start prying into the magic business. "He's just a little over imaginative, that's all."

"It's not all that strange to us," Queenie said quietly.

"I mean, every kid's got his own little…. Wait, what?" Stunned, Jacob turned to face the blond. "Whadda you mean, it's not that strange?"

"The idea of magic," Queenie elaborated. "You don't think he invented all of that, do you? And - Merlin! Teenie suspected that he was related to Theseus Scamander! I never thought he had a sibling who was so young!"

"Theseus who?" Jacob squeaked.

Lithely the young woman rose to her feet. "Won't you join us for supper, Mister Kowalski? I know this is unexpected, but … well, Babbity Rabbity isn't just a children's story, after all."

With a darling smile she flounced away, leaving Jacob floundering on the bench, trying to piece together the one-sided conversation and the final cryptic hint. "Wait - where do I find your address?" he called, amazed that his tongue hadn't wound itself into a sailor's knot.

"Just follow me, honey," Queenie said, beaming. "And bring little Newt! He's getting hungry."

 _How does she know?_ Jacob wondered, absolutely boggled. He waved for Newt to fall in, glad when the child came directly instead of shouting his favorite two-letter word. Come to think of it, the kid did look a bit peaked. He was probably hoping that supper would follow the park outing.

"We going home?" Newt asked, glowing and breathless from running circles around the park.

"Yeah, we're stopping somewhere first," Jacob said, mystified by his own response. Nobody ever invited him to dinner. He should be more suspicious that Queenie had mentioned Newt's brother by name. But that gal…. She couldn't possibly be anything bad.

 _She knows his family,_ Jacob realized, and the thought carried some bitterness along with the reprieve. Someone could finally see this kid home, where he belonged.

But Jacob wasn't sure he was quite ready to say goodbye yet.

Slinging the tired child onto his shoulders Jacob followed Queenie to the road, where she hailed a cab to her own street. Newt dropped his chin onto Jacob's head, already half-asleep. Trust a kid to work up a tantrum over playtime, and then tire himself out ten minutes later. Children were such funny things.

Focused on Newt's recent exploits, Jacob didn't even notice the thin, skulking form that had sidled up behind the oak tree. He had been so busy watching out for Mary Lou's fanatics that he hadn't thought about other children straying close to the park.

Had he realized the consequences of a single afternoon's frivolity, he would have heeded Ol' Bill's advice and kept Newt indoors until spring fever drove them both to recklessness.


	4. The Wary One

The Goldstein's apartment was neither mystical nor elusive, contrary to their peculiar introduction. There were comfortable furnishings, crisp curtains, tasteful rugs that complimented the wallpaper, a grouchy landlady who despised Jacob's presence but cooed over Newt, and the fresh smell of tea roses and orange blossoms - a perfume, surely, for it was too late in the year for such dainty florals.

Newt's eyes flew wide as he took in the polished table laden with piping hot rolls, a tureen of vermicelli soup, carrots sauteed in butter, tender green beans, crispy roast chicken, a mound of fluffy potatoes with dribblet gravy, a perfect, artisan apple strudel, and creamy, frothy cocoa. Promptly the young child hauled himself into a chair and wound a napkin around his neck, waiting impatiently for the adults to sit down.

Huh. The kid must have learned proper table manners from somewhere.

"So, Tina's your sister?" Jacob asked a few minutes later, as he marched his way through the main course and several cups of strong black coffee. "Did she make this?"

"Queenie's the cook," the dark-haired sister admitted readily.

"But Tina kept it warm," Queenie said hastily. She averted her eyes at her sister's sharp look.

Chewing ponderously, Jacob tucked away that thought. It was oddly convenient that the food was fresh and piping hot despite Queenie's excursion to the park.

Sighing, Queenie put down her fork. "We may as well tell him," she told her sister.

"Wait? Tell me what?" Jacob needed another cup of coffee before they launched any more surprises on him. Newt had already filled up his tolerance level for one day.

"Better drink up, honey," Queenie said lightly, filling his cup without being asked.

 _Brilliantly intuitive,_ Jacob thought, taking an appreciative sip of the dark beverage that had yet to cool, despite half an hour of dinner conversation.

"Oh, I'm not all that," Queenie said bashfully, bracing her chin on one hand. "But it's sweet that you think so."

Jacob spluttered and almost choked on his coffee. "I'm sorry, did I say - "

"Queenie reads minds," Tina explained shortly.

This time he did drop his teacup. Bumbling for a napkin as coffee sloshed over his plate, Jacob uttered an apology -

And fell dead still as Queenie flicked out a dainty black reed, whereupon the dark spill vanished without a trace. Taking advantage of the adults' distraction, Newt took his opportunity to dump his carrots back into the serving dish.

"Want more taters," he insisted.

"You - you're witches," Jacob stammered. "You're really witches! So this magic stuff Newt was talking about is all real?"

"Of course it's real, honey!" Queenie said. "You're not afraid of it, though."

"What? No, of course not," Jacob said, although he was admittedly shaken. "I just thought… I thought this was stuff that storybook writers made up."

"All stories come from somewhere," Tina said. Of the two sisters, she seemed to have an agenda for her revelation, and she honed right to the point. "Mister Kowalski, I appreciate what you've done to take care of Mister Scamander's brother…."

"Anyone would've done it in my place," Jacob said awkwardly.

"But as I'm sure you can see, it's better for him to stay with his own kind," Tina finished practically.

"Wait… was that even up for debate?" Jacob asked. "Of course he needs to go back to his family. I've been waiting for news on his brother this whole time."

"What I mean, Mister Kowalski," Tina clarified, "Is that we haven't been able to get in contact with Theseus Scamander."

Taking a long moment to fold his napkin and lay it over the table, Jacob asserted, "So you knew that this was Theseus' kid brother."

"I suspected it was," Tina confirmed. "He stopped in New York a few weeks ago to discuss the recent muggle attacks with President Picquery. As soon as I saw Newt leave with the Barebones, I reported directly to Mister Graves - he's the Director of Magical Security, and head of M.A.C.U.S.A.'s law enforcement. He said he would make a formal inquiry and told me not to interfere."

"After a week passed without any attempted contact with England, Tina and I decided to take the case into our own hands," Queenie said. "We just couldn't leave him with that horrible woman any longer."

"Only, when we went looking for Newt, we discovered he had already left the night before," Tina explained further. "We didn't know where he went, until Queenie spotted him this afternoon. With you."

"You really had no idea that he was a wizard," Queenie marvelled, while Tina finally picked up on Newt's wheedling and spooned more potatoes and gravy onto his plate.

"He didn't do any magic spells or nothing," Jacob argued.

"Most wizards and witches don't learn to control their magic until they begin school," Tina said. "For the most part, their magic is exhibited in accidental mishaps."

"Although he hasn't really done anything unusual," Queenie noted thoughtfully. "He must be a late bloomer."

"He talks a lot about animals," Jacob said. "Dragons and nifflers and thunderbirds, for a few."

"How curious," Queenie said, watching the little blue coat dig his spoon into his mashed potatoes and swirl them around until they resembled a lop-eared dog. "He could be a magizoologist if his brother wasn't so set on making him an auror."

"Queenie, stop," Tina warned. "It's none of our business."

"Auror? Magizoo…what is that?" Jacob piped in.

"Aurors are highly skilled wizards who defend against the dark arts and other threats," Queenie explained. "A magizoologist is like your zoologists, only they study magical beasts."

"Right…." Leaning back, Jacob shook his head. "This is all a bit much for me. What does it all have to do with Newt?"

"Oh. We did get sidetracked," Queenie apologized, glancing at her sister.

"Mister Kowalski," Tina said, "We don't know when we'll be able to contact Newt's brother. All of the floos are under M.A.C.U.S.A.'s surveillance, and my security clearance was revoked after… a similar incident involving No-Maj's."

"Non-Magical people," Queenie stated before Jacob could ask. "They're not supposed to know we exist."

"Even inviting you here and explaining the situation is an intolerable security breach," Tina said. "Unfortunately, we will have to obliviate you after this is over."

His skin crawling, Jacob repeated slowly, "Obliviate me?"

"It's just a simple erasing of memories of magic," Queenie said reassuringly. "It's for our own protection - with the numbers of No-Maj's versus sorcerers, we're in as much danger as some of your endangered species."

Newt stopped in the middle of patting his potatoes into a small mountain with his palms, and listened motionlessly.

"I can't let you do that," Jacob said, chuckling nervously. "Look, I didn't even know about this stuff. _You_ invited me here. You're saying now that you're gonna take the kid and I won't even remember he was around?"

The sisters exchanged an uncomfortable glance.

"He really is quite fond of him," Queenie argued.

"We can't make exceptions," Tina stated. The firm set in her mouth said she wouldn't bank further discussion.

Putting on a delicate pout, Queenie folded her arms. "You can't convince Newt to stay here on his own."

"What do you mean? Of course he'll stay," Tina said.

"No, m'not!" Newt refuted, slapping his palm into the mountain and splattering potatoes onto his sleeves.

"Newt, don't do that at the table!" Jacob said instinctively.

Wretched hazel eyes turned on him with accusation. "I'm not going away! I wanna stay with you."

"There's not much choice, kiddo," Tina said calmingly. "He's a No-Maj. You need to stay with other wizards."

"What, you think I can't take care of him?" Jacob protested.

"I told you, it's a security breach," Tina repeated, frustration edging her tone. "Besides, how are you going to contact Theseus? You don't even know who he is!"

"Well, yeah, but…." Somehow Jacob had just figured that if the kid was in New York City, his brother couldn't be that far behind.

Tired of being ignored, Newt flipped his plate across the table. "I'm goin' home!" he shouted, simultaneous with Jacob's tart order of, "Newt, the food war ends right now or Pudsey is sitting in the corner when we get home!" and Tina's exclamation of, "Newt Scamander!"

Queenie giggled. "You'd better watch out, Newt," she warned the five-year-old. "He really does mean to put Pudsey in the corner."

Which would mean that Newt had to sit in the corner, because Pudsey would cry if he was left there alone. And the child hated staring at a blank wall more than any other punishment.

"Sorry," he mumbled, smearing his gucky hands on his napkin. Quickly he looked at Jacob for redemption. "M'really, really sorry."

"It's fine, kiddo," Jacob said distractedly. "Just don't do it again.

Tina looked to Queenie beseechingly. "He can't stay with a No-Maj."

"It wouldn't be all the time," Queenie proposed. "He needs somewhere to stay while Jacob's at work. We could look after him and then he can go home with Jacob in the evening. You'll both stay for supper every night, won't you?"

Dazed, Jacob looked rapidly between the two sisters. "I thought you were going to obliviate me."

"We couldn't possibly do that now," Queenie said, staring intently at Newt. "He doesn't trust very easily; we can't take him away from his guardian."

"Beg pardon?" Tina deadpanned.

"Oh, Teenie," Queenie fussed. "What does it matter if one little No-Maj knows about us? He won't tell anyone, and besides, Newt feels safe with him. If we take him away from Jacob he'll only run away."

"Or throw a tantrum," Jacob muttered, blotting a few potato splotches from the table.

"I can't believe you're suggesting this!" Tina said. "Do you know what Mister Graves would say if he knew a No-Maj was harboring Theseus Scamander's brother?"

Queenie shrugged, her nose twitching in smug defiance. "It's not like he's done anything to help."

"He's already revoked my licence!" Tina exclaimed. "This could warrant imprisonment, or worse, we could be exiled! Even executed!"

"But he's just one No-Maj," Queenie wheedled.

Huffing, Tina flung her hands into the air. "One No-Maj is all it takes to expose the entire wizarding world!"

"Whoah!" Jacob called, trying to ease the tension. "Nobody's exposing anything. I wouldn't tell anyone about all of this." Nobody in the neighborhood would believe him, anyways.

"It's okay, sweetie," Queenie reassured him. "You'd never hurt a fly… even if you fought in the war." The statement sounded like a vague admonishment. Jacob bristled, but Queenie had already turned to her sister. "It's only until we can contact someone from the Ministry. Newt can stay with us in the morning and return with Jacob after his shift."

"And if an auror finds him in either place, we're through," Tina said wearily.

Queenie fell silent. At length she posed, "That does leave one to wonder why he was left with the Barebone woman in the first place."

Slapping her napkin against the table, Tina gathered a handful of empty plates. "I don't want to talk about it further." She stalked into the kitchen and dumped the plates into a basin of sudsy water, where a sponge began to scrub them with independent fervor.

"What does that mean?" Jacob wondered. Aurors, obliviation, exposure… it was spinning a bewildering tangle.

Newt looked up at Queenie with his best adamant charm. "Goin' with Jacob tonight."

"Is that the plan?" Jacob asked as he stood apprehensively, scratching behind his ear. "She seemed upset."

"That's just Tina's way of accepting something she doesn't like," Queenie said. She crouched beside Newt and touched her wand tip to his hair, removing crusts of dried mashed potatoes. "Sweetie, do you want to go home with Jacob every night, and stay here while he's busy? He has to work, you see, and you'll be awfully bored if he leaves you at home alone."

"I'll stay with Bill," Newt declared.

Queenie laughed. "Oh, honey. Bill is very busy, too. He's got patients to tend and he's rarely home."

"Did you just pluck that out of my head?" Jacob wondered.

"Oh. I'm sorry," Queenie said uncertainly. "You're just so expressive when you think of your friends…."

"No, it's fine. That was… kinda amazing," Jacob admitted.

Smiling softly, Queenie looked down at Newt again. "What do you think, Newt? Want to stay in a magic house for a few days until we find your brother?"

Anxiously Newt slid out of the chair and sidled up to Jacob, clutching the leg of his trousers. "I don't wanna go away," he whimpered.

"Whoah, relax, kid," Jacob hushed. "It's just for a few hours each day. I'll be gone anyways, remember? This way you have someone to take care of you and keep you out of trouble, and I'll be back before you know I'm gone." A sudden worry niggled his mind and he turned to Queenie. "You won't sneak away with him, will you?"

Jacob wasn't so sure he believed that, but it was a charming sentiment. Breathing deeply, he patted Newt's small shoulder. "Ready to go home, then?"

Reaching up, Newt tugged on Jacob's coat until he bent down. Wordlessly the boy wrapped his arms around Jacob's neck and drew up his legs, forcing the man to carry him. Jacob cleared his throat uncomfortably, swallowing a sudden lump.

"Guess that's a yes."

"Pudsey's lonely," Newt bemoaned, as if that was a perfect excuse for his clinginess.

"Yeah, bet he is. C'mon, kid. Let's go home."

* * *

The cab ride lulled Newt to sleep, his head craned bonelessly against Jacob's shoulder. Relaxing as the route was for the kid, Jacob wondered how he would budget for cab fees, even for a short period of time. He decided to think about it in the morning. It would be difficult enough to convince Newt to pack his little suitcase and behave nicely for strangers for the entire day.

"One battle at a time," Jacob murmured.

He paid the cab driver, awkwardly digging into the opposite pocket as he held Newt against his shoulder. Up the creaking staircase he climbed. Standing in the doorway of his cramped apartment, Jacob surveyed it with silent dismay. It was plain and poorly lit, hardly a comparison it to the Goldstein's apartment. There wasn't much of a home for Newt to come back to.

 _Maybe he does need to stay with his own kind._

Sighing, Jacob closed the door behind him and turned the key, shifting Newt to warn him that he was setting him down soon. "We need to get you into your jammies, kid."

Newt mumbled something about bowtruckles and tucked his face into Jacob's neck. Huffing lightly, Jacob turned around to settle the five-year-old into his favorite chair.

He stared into the dark, startled eyes of Credence Barebone, and softly cursed.


	5. The Fervent One

Rising stiffly, Credence gave a shuffling lurch and held out his arms. "Give him back."

"How'd you get in here?" Jacob demanded, cupping a hand behind Newt's fair curls.

"Give him back, please," Credence repeated, his voice hitching with something akin to panic or desperation.

"I'm not sending him to that wretched hovel," Jacob said firmly. "Go tell your mother that she can't have him."

Credence winced. "Mother… doesn't know I'm here," he mumbled.

Frowning, Jacob stepped back and studied the young man. "So why are you here?"

"Please," Credence urged, clutching one arm to himself. "He belongs with us."

Scoffing, Jacob countered, "Any reason why he was running away in the middle of the night?"

"I … didn't know," Credence said softly. His eyes plunged into a darker shade. Shock, perhaps, and something akin to possession. "He… he trusts me. You can't take him away."

Gravely Jacob shook his head. "I'm sorry. But he's safer where he is."

Something dark and angry flared in Credence's eyes. Jacob retreated another step, caught aback by the malevolence in the room. Snuffling, Newt raised his head and looked over Jacob's shoulder.

"Creedy?"

Instantly the dark aura vanished and he lurched forward, tentatively raising his hands. Hazel eyes aglow, Newt willingly surrendered himself into Credence's arms, pecking an affectionate kiss on the wan cheek. Jacob's heart lurched.

"Come home, Newton," Credence pleaded softly.

"But I wanna stay," Newt said plaintively. "Jacob lets me keep Pudsey."

"I'll help you hide Pudsey," Credence swore. "It won't be like before."

"I don't wanna go," Newt mumbled, picking at a button on Credence's jacket. "She's a bad, bad muggle."

"Please, Newton," Credence begged, pressing his face against the soft curls. "I won't ever let her hurt you again."

Something in the way he spoke made it seem more like a threat than a promise.

Pulling back, Newt clapped his tiny hands around Credence's cheeks and demanded, "Credence stay."

The young man's eyes bulged, as though such an offer had never been made. _Won't you stay for tea, Mister Barebone? Do join us for luncheon after church. The weather is dismal tonight; why don't you stay here until morning?_ Such innocuous phrases as were customary and polite among neighbors: Jacob now wondered if the Barebone children had ever felt welcome _anywhere._

"You can stay if you want." The words slipped out without rational thought, as though he shared Newt's vision that all of the world was good and simple. Snapping back to reality, Jacob pondered what he had said realized that he meant it. No child deserved to go back to that insane woman. Catching the boy's eye, he spoke with greater fervor. "Credence, you don't have to go back there."

"Stay!" Newt insisted.

Torn, Credence fumbled to button Newt's coat one-handed. "I - I can't," he said jaggedly. "I…" Twisting to avoid Newt's woebegotten expression, he set the child on the floor. "They need me," he whispered.

Of course. There were a couple other kids at risk. "How many of you are there?" Jacob asked gently.

"My sisters…." Credence trailed off.

"Chasty an' Mosty can come, too?" Newt pleaded, yanking on Jacob's coat.

Catching the averted eyes glancing his way, Jacob threw out his hands in defeat. "Sure. Why not?"

Yipping, Newt bounded to Credence's side. "Credence stay!"

Swallowing, the boy shook his head. "I can't," he said firmly, meeting Jacob's eyes briefly. There was something hidden there: a secret within, or perhaps someone else that he hadn't mentioned in his arguments. "I have to go home."

"Kid…" Jacob said haplessly. "That's no place to call home."

Flinching, Credence curled his hands into loose fists. "It's all I got," he said between gritted teeth. Spinning on his heel, he slunk to the door and out into the night.

"Creedy," Newt said forlornly, skittering to the open door. He stared into the shadowed streets, letting out a soft, yipping cry. Jacob trudged over and scooped him up, rubbing the child's back as he called for his friend.

"C'mon, kid," he whispered. "Nothing we can do about it."

"Creedy," Newt moaned. He buried his face in Jacob's coat, mourning in soft, puppy whimpers. Dismayed, Jacob carried him inside and quietly shut the door. How could he have attached himself to the Barebones in such a short period of time? Removing him from the family now seemed like a tragedy, instead of the redemption that Jacob envisioned.

Perhaps he had always viewed the Barebone children through the curtain of their crude pamphlets. Mary Lou had spread her influence among her children, but instead of cowering under her maleficence, the siblings had bonded together through the shared trials of persecution. With the high and mighty of New York City staring down their noses at the outcasts harbored by the witch huntress, what choice did they have but to remain with the mother who despised them?

Shamed at his own indifference towards the ragtag orphans, Jacob wondered how many times he had passed them on the street and waved them off without so much as a glance. Twenty times? Forty? He had only seen children handing out slips of paper for some woman's cause. He'd never seen the _kids._

Funny how it took a child like Newt to open his eyes.

With these dark thoughts on his mind, Jacob distractedly coaxed Newt into his pajamas into his red and yellow pajamas with the comical eagle-shaped hood, and nestled him into the padded laundry basket - painstakingly cleared of forks, knives, and all pointy objects.

"Pudsey," Newt begged, holding out his arms for his soft toy. He kissed its head repeatedly, taking comfort from its silent, loyal presence, and fell asleep with the toy mashed under his head.

Jacob settled back into his chair, but he didn't reach for the evening paper. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, pondering three young children and their miserable lot. He thought about magic, and beautiful witches who made it sound like a child's fairy tale come true. The thought about Mary Lou's posters: vengeful hands snapping a wizard's wand. He feared for Newt, curled up contentedly in his nest, and wondered what would happen if she ever found the child. How would they send him back to England, if that was where he belonged, and how had he been lost in the first place?

Such troubling thoughts made his way into his dreams, plaguing him with flashes of Mary Lou Barebone riding a broomstick, and Queenie smiling sweetly as she pointed her wand at Jacob before sauntering away with Newt in tow. He had a brief glimpse of Newt lying on the subway platform, cold and frightfully still, before he jerked awake, his heart racing and his neck suffering from a terrible crick. He had the sudden impulse to bundle up the kid and his suitcase and take them both somewhere where witchcraft would never find them.

Groaning, Jacob leaned forward and buried his head in his hands. Today he would be taking Newt to the Goldstein's while he returned to his daily schedule. Who knew that they wouldn't find Theseus in his absence, and he would return home to find his life swept clean as if the kid had never existed?

The thought brought on a terrible, selfish depression. Once more, Jacob considered absconding with the precious, lively child who was so enamored by the world around him.

But he couldn't bring himself to do it. He couldn't be one more "bad, bad muggle" who took advantage of the boy's trust. Sooner or later, Newt would have to go home. Jacob just hoped he would be able to say goodbye before he lost the kid forever.


	6. The Wise One

It was a weary, red-eyed Jacob and an apprehensive Newt who showed up on the Goldstein's doorstep that morning. Queenie greeted them warmly, as bubbly and cheery as she had been the night before.

"I'll just pop you both home afterwards," she told Jacob. "There's no need to pay extra for the cabs." She exchanged a fresh, poppyseed muffin for Newt's case as she spoke, deftly unwinding his scarf. Overwhelmed with hanging onto both his treat and his niffler, Newt could only watch helplessly as his case was passed into foreign hands.

"Uh, that's his," Jacob said disapprovingly, just as Queenie cooed to Newt, "Oh, I'm not taking it, sweetie. I'll just put it right here on the chair. Why don't you have a seat and show me the pictures you colored?"

Brightened by someone's interest in his scribblings, Newt promptly scampered into the apartment and plopped himself into the chair, simultaneously stuffing Pudsey into the space beside him, sinking his gapped teeth into the muffin, and reaching eagerly for his case. Queenie laughed.

"He's so precious, Jacob! Oh, you'll miss him. But don't worry - he'll be well taken care of, and he won't even worry about the time until you're here to take him home."

Reassurances and acknowledgment of Jacob's concern were wrapped up in a single tender statement. He felt comfortable ruffling a hand through Newt's hair in farewell and leaving him in Queenie's care. Already the child was babbling excitedly about the differences between horntails and ironbellies. Jacob soaked in one last glimpse of the little blue coat in his glorious world of wizardry, before he left for the unchanging drudge of the canning factory. His step was lighter than it had felt in years.

* * *

As promised, Jacob was warmly accepted into the Goldstein's home that evening. Queenie had softened up the landlady with a visit from Newt, who had patiently endured two hours of teatime while the two women chatted about fashion and children and the indecency of the current generation. By the time Jacob arrived, Mrs. Esposito was so enamored with Newt's good behavior that she congratulated Jacob on his role as a fine father and patted his cheek, insisting he take home a basket of spongy bran muffins. And that was before he'd even touched supper.

Supper in itself was a riotous affair, for after being cooped up in a sitting room for for _ever_ , Newt had vented his frustrations by rampaging across the house as first an erumpant, then a yowling kneazle, then a phoenix (newly afire phoenix), a thestral (who apparently wasn't supposed to be visible), and finally a werewolf. Delightedly Queenie described how she had battled the flames of Newt's "fiery rebirth," averted "terrible explosions," and finally coaxed out his "human side" just in time for Jacob's arrival. The meal had quite literally been whipped into shape right before Jacob's eyes - midair, and cooked on the spot.

Newt chortled and cackled, ignoring his food as he elaborated on his grand exploits, adding details such as, "I climbed the curtains!" and "We made biscuits like house elves does!"

Tina, having been occupied in the wand office all day, had little to comment on. She mentioned that another wizard, Sam by name, was irked that Queenie would be gone for an entire week, especially after she had claimed illness so frequently.

"Sam's always that way." Queenie shrugged. "He's just ansty because he's trying to hide that he's seeing Ruby."

"I don't need to hear everything that stirs inside my fellow wizard's heads," Tina said, rolling her eyes.

"You don't have to worry about Jacob being followed here," Queenie consoled her. "I told him that I would apparate him and Newt home tonight. It'll save him a bit of money and we needn't worry about nosy busybodies watching him come and go."

"Queenie!" Tina admonished.

"Stop flustering so," Queenie urged. "You're not usually this tedious. You're worried about the arrangement we've made."

"Yes, I'm worried!" Tina retorted. "We're hosting a No-Maj right when we're on the brink of exposure! We should have taken Newt straight to President Picquery."

"But Theseus isn't anywhere in New York," Queenie pointed out.

"They would have sent him back to England!" Tina insisted. "We've practically kidnapped him!"

"Then why would Mister Graves leave him with the No-Maj's?" Queenie said pertly. She slid a buttermilk biscuit onto Newt's plate as the five-year-old stamped his fork through his steamed carrots, making vicious growling noises. "It doesn't make sense, Teenie. He should have been the first to contact the Ministry of Magic."

"So you think that absconding with Mister Scamander's brother is better than leaving him with M.A.C.U.S.A.," Tina ascerted, casting her sister a dour look.

Fearlessly Queenie answered, "Yes."

Frustration melted into thoughtfulness. "You really think something else is going on here," Tina surmized.

"Theseus Scamander is a major influence in England," Queenie reasoned. "If someone had his little brother as a motivation…."

"They could have power over the Ministry and M.A.C.U.S.A.," Tina finished for her. She breathed in shakily, studying her knife and fork. "Someone deliberately separated Newt from his brother."

"So you see," Queenie concluded, glancing sidelong at Jacob, "We're really doing what's best to protect the magical world."

"I take it that Theseus is a pretty big guy in this magic stuff?" Jacob summarized. "You're saying someone wanted to blackmail him? Who would do something like that to a kid?"

Said kid had finished mauling his vegetables and was now picking the crusts off of his biscuit, discarding them with a look of grim disillusionment.

"Someone who wanted to start a war," Tina said, narrowing her eyes at Newt's antics.

"Grindelwald," Queenie murmured.

Fed up, Tina flicked her wand and Newt's plate miraculously cleared of mashed food. He yowled at her for interfering, and she sternly pointed her wand at his plate.

"Stop playing with it. We don't waste food here."

"S'nasty!" Newt gnashed, shoving his now empty plate away.

"He's a picky eater," Jacob tried to explain.

"That's no excuse," Tina responded, just as Queenie contradicted her with a sympathetic, "Well, what do you like, honey?"

"Chips," Newt grumbled, thunking his chin onto his folded arms. "Chips an' bangers."

"He means potatoes," Queenie translated, sweeping out of her chair. "I can whip up something, it won't take me but a minute."

"You can't cater to him just because he refuses to eat," Tina argued. "Mum would never let us - "

"Things were different back then, Teenie," Queenie told her. "We have plenty. Besides, he's a guest."

"Spoiled," Tina muttered.

Newt had a far more satisfied outlook after a serving of crisp, golden potato slices. Jacob continued to discuss Grindelwald with the Goldsteins, asking questions about his origins, why he hated No-Maj's, how far he would go to ensure this war of his, and how to contact Theseus if someone had supposedly sabotaged the inquiry process in M.A.C.U.S.A. It was nearing nine o'clock when Newt tilted back his chair, crashing with an outraged squawk, signalling to everyone that his evening was quite over, thank you very much. Chastising the boy for making such a racket, Jacob made his goodbyes and fetched Newt's things. He found a stash of brightly colored birds among Newt's drawings, whose crisp lines testified to Queenie's contribution, and a parcel of the _real_ biscuits that Newt had referred to - a dozen cinnamon dusted cookies.

Then Queenie slipped her hands around his arm, and before Jacob could consider the romantic implications the room spun and warped, and he stumbled, windmilling, into his own apartment. Newt shook his head in brief disorientation and then dashed over to the door, shrieking, "Creedy's home!"

"It's a lovely little flat," Queenie said, looking around appraisingly.

"It's comfy," Jacob allowed. Disorientated, he rubbed the back of his neck, trying to figure out how they had gone from the Goldstein's apartment to his own in mere seconds.

"Oh. Someone's here to see you," Queenie said, indicating to Newt who was fanatically leaping for the lock far above his head. "I'll pick him up tomorrow before you leave for work. Night, Sweetie."

Before Jacob could even respond, she had vanished. "Huh. Witches!" he exclaimed. Shaking away the last dizzy sensation, he guided Newt away from the door and cracked it open. "Hullo?"

A little girl in a faded dress and woven braids looked up at him with narrowed eyes. "Credence said you're keeping Newton here."

"You're Modesty," Jacob deadpanned.

Eagerly Newt shoved past him. "Mosty! Mosty!" Dragging the little girl inside, he yanked open his suitcase lid and shoved the parcel of cookies into her hands, then pulled out a drawing of a pink, puffy owl. "Want you to have this."

Calmly Modesty tilted her head at the drawing, then handed it back. "Momma won't let me keep it." The coolness fled her expression as she opened the parcel and caught a whiff of rich cinnamon. "For me?"

"Uh-huh!" Newt said, grabbing a cookie and cramming the whole thing into his mouth. "Biscuits!"

Tentatively Modesty nibbled the edge of one, but Jacob could see the famished look in her eyes. "All of them?" she ensured.

"Uh… Newt?" Jacob hinted, looking at the five-year-old for confirmation.

Sprawling onto the floor, Newt became engrossed in sorting out his new colorings. Jacob shrugged. "Okay, so she can have them." He shut the door, wondering if he really needed to be surprised by another guest. Turning from the latch, he paused, mystified at the sight of a young girl standing in the middle of his living room, tentatively biting into a cookie with the unease of a coon hovering over its stash. Such quiet wonder glowed in those young eyes, as though for the first time she had been permitted to enjoy a treat. It wasn't right. Not right at all.

Slipping the parcel into her dress pocket, Modesty plopped down beside Newt and reverently pulled out one of his books. She read to herself, mouthing the words, while Newt categorized his pictures in front of her.

"Gwaphorn," he said, pointing to an ugly-faced beast. "Billiiwig. That's a baby Gwaphorn." He went through the list, encouraged by Modesty's solemn nods. "Unicorn. Kelpi. Boggart."

"That's a desk," Modesty stated.

"No, bogart," Newt said with disgust. "Hate desks! M'not gonna be a minister."

"Then don't," Modesty said.

Awed by such wisdom, Newt grabbed a blue coloring pencil and scribbled all over the picture. "Boggart's gone!" he said triumphantly.

Nodding sagely, Modesty continued reading. Baffled by this strange, magical intrigue harbored by a very anti-magic young lady, Jacob determined that she meant no ill will towards Newt (or any of his possessions, for that matter), and he retreated to the kitchen to make cocoa. The treat was enthusiastically received by both children, and when Newt suddenly clued out and nearly toppled into his case, Modesty closed _The Tales of Beetle and Bard_ and placed it reverently among the younger child's possessions.

"When will he come back?" she asked Jacob.

"When?" Jacob exclaimed, wondering if he'd heard her right.

"Yes, when will he come home?" she repeated.

"Not gonna leave," Newt mumbled, swaying into Jacob's arms.

"He's going back to his family," Jacob told Modesty firmly. "Until then, he wants to be here."

"But he belongs with us," Modesty said, unwittingly repeating her brother's argument. Unlike Credence's desperate plea, her argument was one of cool dispassion. It was as though she thought that Mary Lou's treatment was a cruelty to be borne, and not a reason to run away. "He's one of us now."

Jacob really wasn't ready to repeat the argument. "Newt is staying here," he said with finality. "You're welcome to visit anytime you like…"

Belatedly he realized that was the wrong thing to say, for the sake of Newt's own safety. The more often the Barebone kids tagged along, the easier it would be to follow someone straight to the little fugitive. Jacob hastily backtracked. "I mean…."

But Modesty had stopped listening. Standing spritely, she brushed off her skirts and patted Newt's hair, stooping to kiss his cheek. "Goodbye, Newton," she said with the faintest trace of fondness. "Come back to us soon."

Gaping, Jacob watched the girl traipse into the rain. One haunted, agitated young man, and now the most passionless, carefree girl he had ever seen had both crossed his threshold, wished their goodwill upon Newt, and left with self-assurance that he would soon return. "Has the whole world gone mad?"

"Mosty's funny," Newt yawned, summing up Jacob's observations. "When's Chasty coming?"

"I dunno," Jacob said faintly. Given the two most recent opposite forces, he had better prepare himself for the worst. Chastity probably had a temper fit to shake the house down.


	7. The Gentle One

When Chastity Barebone did sneak over to see "Newton," it was after three consecutive visits from Modesty and one more demand from Credence that Newt return home at once. Jacob expected either an icy accusation from the older sister, or perhaps a fiery display to match her passionate brother.

Chastity did neither. She knelt beside Newt and simply stared at him, clasping his shoulders gently as though he might balk from too much contact. For several minutes she seemed mesmerized, as though she must sear into her mind every second of the encounter in case it was her last.

The moment broke when Newt abruptly shook his head and dragged Chastity over to his nest. She followed benignly, a patient smile lifting the sorrow in her much too old gaze. Newt did not show her pictures or ask her to read aloud to him. He simply made her squeeze into the basket, crawled in beside her, and closed his eyes while she stroked his rampant curls. Smiling in soft apology for her unladylike display, Chastity told Jacob, "I've missed him."

She offered little conversation, and thanked Jacob politely when he brought her tea and lemon crumb cake. Newt did not stir until the clock struck seven-thirty and Chastity dragged her thumb lightly down his eyebrows, indicating that she was going to stand.

When she slipped out the front door, Newt flung his arms around Jacob and sobbed.

* * *

With the addition of Chastity to the mottley visitors, Jacob saw an unusual routine evolve. It had been four weeks since Newt's first sighting, and three weeks since he had been rescued. The boy woke up early each morning, blazing with new energy and ideas. Instead of hunting billiwigs he rushed to the table for breakfast, which was usually spent with Credence, who crept into the house with tousled hair as though he had just rolled out of bed. At six-thirty sharp, Queenie popped in to take Newt to the Goldstein residence, where the boy scampered and played to his heart's content, with silencing spells and a witch's endless creativity staunching any potential mishaps and neighbors' complaints. As soon as Jacob finished his shift he walked to the Goldstein's apartment, where he was dragged inside by a babbling five-year-old and treated to a decadent supper that could outrival any restaurant chef. Newt watched the clock ferociously, and at eight o'clock exactly he snatched up his scarf and Jacob's coat and scarcely waited to finish aparating before he raced to open the front door to see if there were any visitors. Modesty would show up every night between eight and nine. Chastity only visited twice, once in the early morning with Credence, and once after Modesty had gone home to bed. She seemed wary of leaving home often, or adopting a schedule that her mother could predict. Jacob didn't blame her.

He wouldn't have allowed _any_ of the Barebones to visit if he had realized the devastation that Mary Lou's discovery would bring.

But the morning was new, and the air was not too chilly, and the sun was soft and gentle as it roused Jacob from a rare early morning nap. Newt, courteous of Jacob's rare day off, was quietly coloring ten different sketches of Babbity Rabbity, apparently trying to show the steps in which a witch could shrink herself into a rabbit. He looked up and beamed as Jacob meandered into the kitchen.

"Zoo?"

"Yeah, kid," Jacob mumbled, fumbling for the coffee pot. "We're going to the zoo today."

"We see hippocampuses?" Newt exclaimed, bolting to his feet and scattering the forgotten drawings.

" _Hippopotamuses_ ," Jacob corrected. "They might be a bit more ordinary, just warning you."

"Hippo! Hippo! Hippo!" Newt crowed, turning a string of dizzy somersaults. "An' eagles? An' owls?"

Jacob chuckled. "Well, maybe an ostrich." He hadn't been to the zoo in a while. He hoped the kid wouldn't be too disappointed when he couldn't find any dragons.

Dashing to the door, Newt scrabbled for his coat and scarf. He ran to Jacob and waved for help putting them on. "We leaving now?"

"Gimme a second," Jacob said, grabbing a piece of pumpernickel bread and slathering it with butter. "Remember, I said coffee first."

"And then we go," Newt established. He ran back to his case and dumped his coloring pencils and paper into the chaotic mess. No matter how many nights passed, he always repacked his belongings before going somewhere. He was either a well organized child, or fearful of leaving anything behind. Jacob suspected the kid would pack his own house and just _live_ in the suitcase if that was possible.

"Ready now?" Newt asked, looking up animatedly from his tightly bolted case.

Swigging hot coffee to wash down the last bite of pumpernickel, Jacob nodded and accepted the whirlwind of excitement that prodded him outside. Newt ran on ahead, a brilliant patch of sky on a rainy day, and Jacob contemplated getting him a leash and harness. Heaven's sakes, that kid was going to run right in front of a car someday!

His fear that Newt would be bored by the zoo was unfounded. Newt was enamored by every new creature he saw. He fled in terror from the lion, until he was assured that it wasn't really a Nundu and its breath wouldn't kill him. (Jacob really hoped that was just a fairy tale and not a genuine animal roaming somewhere in Africa.) The hippos really were hippocampuses, Newt was convinced, and he gave Jacob a droll look when the man tried to explain the difference between the No-Maj animal and Newt's unprofessional drawings. He tried to dance for the ostrich, and Jacob half believed the giant bird knew exactly what Newt was expressing, for it hung close to the fence and bobbed its head, as though if not for the bars it would feed this oddly-feathered, half-starved fledgling. Newt shrieked in delight when he saw the rhinoceroses, hollering ceaselessly about "Erumpets! I found them!"

By far, his most charming find was the monkeys. The minute New laid eyes on the swinging mammals he pressed himself against the fence link, stunned into enamored silence. "Demiguises," he whispered, watching the shrieking marsupials chase one another around the pen. "I'mma name one Dougal."

He spent twenty minutes studying the monkeys critically before he chose one to bear that name: a dewy-eyed, older macaque that had seen a few more summers than its playmates. After a few minutes of listening, Newt hooted a nearly perfect echo of the monkey's call. He clapped his hands when "Dougal" swung down to inspect the new howler. Jacob valiantly staved off a meltdown when the zookeeper told Newt that no, he couldn't take any of the animals home.

He bundled a sleepy, satisfied Scamander home just as dusk was falling. The temperature was dropping again: nature mocking a man's hopes for spring. Newt continued to babble, his voice a soft drone as he reiterated the day's events.

"An' I saw a zebra, an' the gorilla was thiiiis big! An' there weren't any dragons, an' I got my first billiwig!"

Said "billiwig" was an unhappy cockroach that had survived the latest frost. Jacob had waited until Newt was distracted before flipping it out of the child's pocket. That pest was _not_ entering his kitchen!

"An' then I lost it," Newt continued mournfully, "But then I saw a Dougal! An' he was batting the other demigizes 'cause they was being naughty, an' he swung up soooo high an' he ate an apple!"

"Yup, he sure did," Jacob chuckled, rattling the doorknob. He couldn't remember if he had locked it this morning. Newt had been in such a hurry to get out….

The door swung open noiselessly. Freezing at the threshold, Jacob slowly swung Newt off of his shoulders. "Wait here, kid."

"There's no need for that, Mister Kowalski." The most hateful voice shattered Jacob's illusion of secrecy. Light flooded the apartment and he glimpsed short auburn hair and rigid shoulders, before Mary Lou Barebone turned to face them both. A few feet away, Credence hovered in the corner, gripping hs bloody right hand.

"You can stop right there, Mister Kowalski," Mary Lou said thinly, kicking Newt's open case aside and stepping through the strewn, shredded pages of Babbity Rabbity. "I believe you have something that belongs to me."

"Newt, run!" Jacob cried out. He heard the child gasp, and even as he retreated from the step he felt something press against his neck. Closing his eyes, he raised his hands and turned to face grim, dark eyes and the end of a silver-capped wand.

"Funny how far a little _Imperio_ will go to persuade a stubborn muggle," the man said with a pitiless smirk. His ebony hair and sweeping robes blended into the night. He twisted his grip on Newt's coat collar and nodded to the open door. "Step inside, Mister Kowalski. We need to talk."

* * *

 **Got a couple reviews last chapter! *Squeals excitedly!***

 **I finally get to see Crimes of Grindelwald this weekend and I've made my sister swear not to give me spoilers. Hope it's as good as anticipated, seeing as they made me wait two years for the sequel!**


	8. The Dark One

Jacob stumbled over the carpet as he backed into the sitting room, his eyes flickering to Newt's white face. This man couldn't be Theseus Scamander; not with the homage Newt paid his older brother.

"You're Grindelwald," he guessed.

The dark wizard's eyebrows shot into the air. "You're clever... for a muggle," he condescended. "Then you know why I'm here."

"Let the boy go," Jacob pleaded, glancing back at Mary Lou. The fiery woman, who had publicly condemned witches and wizards, now stood complacently as the worst of their kind strolled into the room. There was a glazed film over her eyes, as though only part of herself was aware of her surroundings.

"I don't think so," Grindelwald said idly. His hand slid up from Newt's collar to snag a fistful of the fair curls. Yipping, Newt twisted against the pull on his scalp, frightened tears sprinting down his cheeks.

"Hey, leave him!" Jacob hollered.

"You see, Mister Kowalski," Grindelwald continued serenely, "I came to America looking for an Obscurus - a powerful Obscurus. Something that could shake the wizarding world. But when I learned that Theseus was dragging along his precious orphan brother…." The wizard shrugged. "Well, how could I resist?"

"What's the kid to you?" Jacob implored. "Come on, he's only five!"

Bemused, Grindelwald raised one dark eyebrow. "I know you're not that daft, Mister Kowalski. Why would anyone kidnap a child?"

"You tell me!" Jacob spat. His shoe crunched on a spinning top. Out of the corner of his eye he saw torn coloring pages, broken pencils, scattered pebbles, and a slashed, one-eyed stuffed niffler. "What kind of monster does this to a kid?"

"Oh, Kowalski. You have no idea," Grindelwald said ponderously. "Do you know what I'm holding here?" He smiled, tilting Newt's head back with the tip of his wand. "Britain. America. Africa. Asia. All of the wizarding world, right here at my fingertips. You think there's anyone who won't listen to their famous war hero? I put Theseus Scamander under my thumb and they will flock to me from every corner of the wizarding world. Now that - that's power, Mister Kowalski. Every wizard - every _child_ \- answering to my command."

"They won't do it," Jacob bluffed, focused on the wand jabbing into Newt's throat. "Look, I know a couple witches. They already went through M.A.C.U.S.A., and their security department didn't have time for lost kiddos."

"Ah, yes. Miss Porpentina Goldstein," Grindelwald said. He chuckled as Jacob lost all color. "As far as M.A.C.U.S.A. is concerned, I am the head of the security department."

"No," Jacob croaked. "They would never let you in there."

"Mm, I wouldn't count on their good senses," Grindelwald tutted. "They couldn't find England's prized child when he was ten feet away from their own headquarters; small wonder they couldn't recognize a concealment charm hiding their worst enemy."

"So what happens now?" Jacob growled. "You gonna kill him, once he's fulfilled your ultimate plan?"

He saw Credence flinch violently in the corner, as the boy's attention riveted on Grindelwald. He drew himself up slightly, tucking his palms under his arms.

"Don't hurt him."

Mary Lou's dazed interaction was diverted into keen irritability. "What was that, Credence?"

Mildly Grindelwald graced the young man with his attention. "Is there something you want to say, boy?"

Wetting his lips, Credence repeated shakily, "Please don't hurt him."

"You dare!" Mary Lou hissed. She shook herself as though waking from a dream, rounding on not only Newt, but the wizard behind him. "You would defend these heretics? I knew you were sneaking around at night, but associating with this harbinger of evil and - "

Grindelwald sighed pensively, tilting his wand leisurely in the woman's direction. "Avada Kedavera."

Mary Lou's expression froze in a garish flash of light. The light smote her chest and hurled her over the sitting chair and against the wall, where she fell in a boneless heap. Newt screamed.

"That will be quite enough," Grindelwald said, lowering his wand towards Credence.

"You…! You… You promised you'd help me!" Credence stammered in horror.

"So I did. Your mother is dead; you're free to go as you wish."

"You said you wouldn't hurt Newton," Credence said, stumbling forward as Newt sobbed piteously. "You said we could all be together!"

"Oh, Credence," Grindelwald said, shaking his head. "You really believed there was a place in the wizarding world for you? You're a squib: born to magical parents without any ability of your own. You - your sisters - you're worth nothing in the magical realm. And I'm done with you."

He hauled Newt up in one arm and Jacob staggered as the wand jabbed the bridge of his nose. Grindelwald smiled benignly. "Say goodbye to the child, Mister Kowalski."

"No!" Newt screeched, as loud as any howler monkey. "No! No! Noooo!"

"Avadah Keda- _aaaaah_!" Bellowing in pain, Grindelwald flapped his arm as small, pearly teeth clamped onto his wrist. Newt snarled and wound his hands around the wizard's arm, ducking as a fist cuffed his head. Another stunning blow and he dropped, rolling and gripping his right eyebrow. Jacob lunged forward, grabbing the dark wizard's wand hand at the wrist, and chanced to glimpse the wailing child.

Several things happened at once. Newt curled up in a ball, both hands pressed against his right ear, blood dripping from between his fingers. Jacob whalloped Grindelwald with a right hook, and Credence roared.

The walls exploded.

Jacob had a new revelation of "seeing red" as black threads laced with livid flames burst around him, tearing him away from Grindelwald. The dark wizard hit the chimney, slammed into the opposing wall, and rebounded off the ceiling. He fell in a shower of plaster and glass slivers - eyes wide, dark hair melting into silver strands.

The roar of darkness furled around Newt, obscuring the child's terrified screams. It ripped through the outside wall and echoed a concussive blast that hurled Jacob into the open parlor. Wind gusted around him as he clawed for breath. As abruptly as the storm began, it fell silent. A distant, mournful howl was the only testament that magic had torn the night asunder.

Rolling off the splintered table, Jacob heaved for air. Splinters gouged his hands and his legs tingled. "Newt!" he hacked, frantically scanning the room. "Kid, you there?"

No one answered. Not even a scrap of blue coat could be seen amidst the rubble.

" _Newt!"_

Lurching, Jacob crawled to the brick shards that half-buried Grindelwald's corpse. He pawed through the pieces, digging until his hands were bloody and his nails torn, and finally sat back with a sob of mingled relief and fear. There was no sign of Newt. He wasn't buried, but he wasn't safe.

Staring at the gaping wall, Jacob forced himself to breathe deeply and shambled to his feet. He waded through splintered wood and plaster, wincing as a long shard of glass jabbed through his shoe. Shaking it free, he looked down and saw Newt's poor, battered Pudsey sticking out of the wreckage. Gently he tugged the toy free and brushed it off.

A different kind of red mist shadowed his vision as he tucked the mistreated niffler under his arm. Stamping to the gaping opening, he searched the streets. To the right, automobiles careened around crumbled asphalt and downed telephone poles. In the light of crunched headlights, wheels spun midair. There was a clear path of destruction leading away from Jacob's apartment. Setting his jaw, he spun to the door and wrenched it open, skittering down the creaking staircase.

Outside, peaceful traffic had dissolved into mayhem. Moans and sobs filtered the air. A few officers had only now run onto the scene, haplessly trying to prioritize the chaos. Jacob calmly slipped around them, passing a woman who wept beside a crumpled vehicle.

His heart wrung with pity, but he couldn't help them now. The smallest wizard was out there in the dark; lost, hurting, afraid. Jacob couldn't believe he was gone. He wouldn't believe it.

Shouldering past another police officer, he started walking.


	9. The Beloved One

The dark subway walls seemed like something out of a dream. Condensation dripped down brick tunnels. The wan glow of a few lamps illuminated trembling puddles. Here and there the asphalt cracked, where a few weeds struggled to survive in the blackness. Faintly theasubway horn echoed, reverberating off the walls with chilling melancholy.

Between two cold pillars, Credence rocked back and forth, his face buried in his folded arms. His breath hitched unsteadily, and his shoulders trembled. A snatch of bright blue lay motionless beside him.

"Newt!" Stumbling forward, Jacob knelt beside the inert child, cupping his hand under the matted, limp curls. "Newt, wake up! C'mon kid, talk to me!"

Gasping, Credence raised his head, tortured eyes latching onto Jacob. The young man's cheeks glistened. "I think…." his voice wobbled and he shook his head. "I think I broke him."

"Newt, come on," Jacob pleaded, ignoring the pelting thought of, _it_ _'s too late, there's nothing more to be done_. The little blue coat was filthy and torn. It's owner was pale, and so, so cold. Breath hitching, Jacob shook the child lightly. " _Newt!"_

"Credence?" Light, running feet skittered in the subway tunnel. A woman gasped, and someone halted just behind her. Sagging, Tina raised a hand to her throat. "Oh, no…."

"Please!" Jacob begged, pressing the small child against his chest. "Help him!"

"Oh, Jacob!" Tears sprang to Queenie's eyes and she darted forward, her wand already drawn. "Honey, let me see him."

Shivering, Jacob twisted to make room, but he couldn't let go. "He's not …. _Please_ , tell me he's not….!"

"Tina, get help," Queenie said crisply, resting a featherlight hand against Newt's brow. Relief stuttered in her words as she reassured, "He's breathing, Jacob."

He gasped a sob, clasping the fluttering, bird's pulse in the boy's frail wrist. "You can fix him, can't you? With magic?"

"I only know a few healing spells," Queenie murmured, her brow pinched in fierce concentration. Blue light flowed from the tip of her wand, caressing the boy's ashen face. "Come on, come on," she whispered.

Abruptly Newt spasmed, screwing up his face. He arched in a coughing fit and cried out, cupping his bloody ear.

"Kid!" Jacob yelped, gathering the boy close. He patted Newt's cheek, coaxing him to open his eyes. "Hey! Hey, I'm here, kid. It's okay. Grindelwald's gone forever."

Queenie startled beside him, and Jacob hoped that she was reading his mind, absorbing everything that had taken place in the apartment. He couldn't spare the time to explain the dark wizard's intrusion and his subsequent demise.

"Oh, Credence, what have you done?" Queenie whispered.

"Jacob?" Newt whimpered, rubbing his fists into his eyes. "Jacob!"

"I'm right here, Newt!" Jacob hushed, rocking the boy gently. "I gotcha. You're safe."

"Wanna go home!" Newt choked, burying his face into Jacob's coat. "I don't wanna fight Grindewhad no more!"

Weakly chuckling, Jacob patted Newt's back. "Yeah, me neither. Don't worry; he's never going to hurt you again."

"I think he'll be okay," Queenie whispered, extinguishing the light in her wand. "He's just badly shaken."

Snuffling, Newt curled himself into Jacob's lap, then frowned as he saw a black lump on the floor. "Pudsey?"

How easily the child was distracted from his hurts. Jacob reached behind him and grabbed the stuffed toy, bobbing it in front of Newt until the child grabbed it.

"Brought it here just for you, kid. I figured you'd be missing him."

Glumly Newt fingered the missing eye, and his face screwed up as he tugged on the niffler's battered nose. "Pudsey's broken."

"No, no, no!" Jacob quickly reassured him. "It's just a scratch. We can fix him."

"Someone's coming!" Queenie warned. She looked ahead, her face pinched, and then swirled around to scoop Newt out of Jacob's arms.

"No!" the boy squealed.

"It's M.A.C.U.S.A.," Queenie hissed to Jacob. "Get behind one of the pillars. Hurry, Jacob! They'll obliviate you if they know you're here!"

"Jacob, no!" Newt squalled.

"It's okay! It's okay!" Jacob whispered, backing away from the lights bobbing down the corridor. "I'll be right behind you, kid."

"Newt? Newt!?"

No sooner did he hear the frantic, distant call, than Newt went still in Queenie's arms. He strained forward, trembling, and Jacob knew that his special, magical world with the kid was coming to an end.

"Newton?" the young voice called again.

" _Theseus!"_

Screaming, the little blue coat wrenched in Queenie' grasp, scratching at her hands until she set him down on the pavement. He tripped over his small feet and flung himself into a windmilling, desperate run. Pounding footsteps pelted towards him, and a white-faced, dark-haired young man skidded around the corner. He hollered upon seeing Newt, skidding to a halt inches away from the tracks, and stooped into a crouch just in time for the child to fling himself around his brother's neck.

"Theseus! The-Theseus! Theseus! Theseus!"

Sobbing his brother's name over and over, Newt plastered the young man's face with kisses, alternating between clasping his brother's face and clinging to his neck.

"Newt, you little rascal!" Theseus choked. "Where have you been!"

"I followed a blue beetle - it was running down all these halls - an' when I looked for you you were gone!"

Huffing, Theseus kissed the boy's temple and ruffled his hair. "You idiot, didn't I tell you to stay with me?"

"I wasn't lost!" Newt insisted. "I found Creedy, an' then Jacob an' me made a nest, and we made biscuits, an' we went to the zoo, an' we found demi-guses, an' we fought the bad, bad wizard, an' Pudsey got broken!" The last statement ended in a pitiful sob, heralding another round of wretched, heartbroken tears.

"Shhh," Theseus whispered, skimming his fingers across the bruising around Newt's ear. "Dear little brother, what happened to you?"

Jacob yearned to hear more, but before he knew it Queenie was tugging his arm, pulling him away from the tender reunion.

"Wait!" he exclaimed, "I didn't get to say goodbye!"

"You won't even remember him if you stay here much longer," Queenie hissed. She led Jacob into a side tunnel, where Credence was pressed against the wall, straining to hear Newt's babbling voice. "Grindelwald's body is at your flat, right?"

"Yeah, and Mrs. Barebone's," Jacob confirmed.

"Don't go back," Queenie whispered. "They'll obliviate any witnesses. Take Credence to Bill's house and wait for me there. Tina and I will explain the situation to the president. I'll tell them that I obliviated you and the children."

"What about the kid?" Jacob urged. He cringed as Newt's piping voice rang echoed in the tunnel, calling his name. "Is he gonna be okay?"

With an aching smile, Queenie rubbed his shoulder. "Honey, you knew he was going to have to go home sooner or later."

His heart sinking, Jacob nodded. "I know," he said thickly. "I just…."

 _I was just getting used to having him around._

"He won't forget you, Jacob," Queenie whispered. She prodded him towards the staircase and nodded. "Don't look back."

He didn't, but the little one's lonely cries pierced his heart.

For the first time since he had gathered a miserable child into his arms, Jacob deliberately walked away.


	10. The One Who Was Never Forgotten

**I wrote the conclusion of this story before Crimes of Grindelwald came out, so the take on relationships between Muggles and Non-Muggles in London's society is technically non-canon. (I didn't really agree with how that panned out anyways, but that's just the matter of things.)**

 **Many thanks to all who followed, favorited, and reviewed! Hope you all enjoyed the story!**

* * *

 _Epilogue_ …

* * *

 _Gas Leak Destroys Road and Nearby_ _Apartments_ , was the No-Maj explanation for a magical force tearing through New York City. There was neither mention of murder nor wizards, and the death count did not include Mary Lou Barebone. It seemed that her corpse had been concealed along with Grindelwald's, spirited away by M.A.C.U.S.A.'s agents.

Ol' Bill said little about Jacob and three orphans taking shelter in his home. He simply raised an eyebrow at Jacob's half-spun excuse, told them not to touch the milk if it smelled rank, and left to make his house calls. The empty, silent house, large enough for plenty of guests (if Bill had been such a man as to entertain), was dusty and neglected, testament of a man who rarely strayed outside of his own bedroom and the front door. Jacob kept himself and the Barebone children busy by dusting, sweeping, mopping, scrubbing, and airing the extra rooms. He baked, sorted Bill's stacks of unopened mail, fed the mangy cats that gathered around the doctor's heels every morning, and comforted each of the Barebone children in their turn.

They had all lost something when Newt was taken away.

Credence bore it silently, shunning Jacob's consolations. Guilt was a vicious nemesis, and could only be vanquished by the one whom it plagued.

Every night Modesty woke screaming, crying out in fear of her mother, or searching for her small friend. Jacob read to her in the evenings, with stories from _The Brothers Grimm_ replacing the lighthearted tale of a magical rabbit.

Chastity hid her sorrow for the sake of her siblings, but twice Jacob saw her wiping away tears. She was a compassionate soul, tenderhearted towards those who leaned on her protection, and the loss of Newt cut her deeply.

Mary Lou Barebone was dead, but her legacy had burned its scars into her children. In the span of one night they had lost their only semblance of home, their little brother, and the woman who had called herself their mother. It was too much grief, too soon, and so Jacob kept their minds occupied with good, hard work, while Bill tutored them in his spare evening hours, coaxing them with the hopes of future schooling.

"They won't want me," Credence said with grim acceptance.

"'Course they will," Bill responded with equal seriousness. "Yer mind's bright, an' yer penmanship is adequate. Ye'll catch up."

By the end of three weeks, Jacob had found himself a new apartment within walking distance of the factory, and Bill was considering adoption.

"I feel like I bin climbin' Jacob's Ladder for years, Jakey," he told Jacob with a forlorn sigh, "An' I'm beginning tah think there's more rungs a'hind me than afore. I'll nevah marry. But these kiddos need a home, and me… well, maybe I need a few young'uns tah come home to as well."

Jacob clapped the doctor's thin shoulder. "Take care of them, Bill."

"Eh, take care'o yerself, Kowalski," Bill grunted. "Yeh ain't bin the same since the little rascal left."

No, Jacob hadn't, nor would he ever be. Shortly after M.A.C.U.S.A. finished clearing the apartment of magical influence, Jacob had snuck into the building's carcass, searching for the shreds of Newt's possessions. He found a broken colored pencil and a smooth river stone. Everything with magical implications had been rifled through and disposed of. There was nothing left to remind him of a chattering, animal-loving, temperamental, affectionate little blue coat.

Even the Goldsteins hadn't contacted him since.

If not for the presence of the Barebone kids, Jacob would have wondered if he had imagined the whole thing. Once he left Bill's house, even the children seemed to be part of a bizarre dream. He had half convinced himself that he was as senile as Ol' Bill claimed to be, when a patch of sunshine crossed his path and he found himself staring into the eyes of Queenie Goldstein.

"You weren't forgotten," she said gently, answering his thoughts before he could say a word. "I'm so sorry. The Ministry of Magic wanted our statement on Grindelwald. Tina and I had to take all the credit to protect Credence. We've been in England this past month. You wouldn't believe how difficult it is to fabricate the death of a famous criminal."

"You were in England?" Jacob said numbly. He shifted from one foot to the other, fiddling with the handle of his work briefcase. "How… How's the kid?"

As he suspected, Queenie shrugged apologetically. "We didn't see him. I hear he's just dandy, though. The Ministry of Magic is relieved to have him back; they said Theseus was tearing London apart searching for him."

Jacob chuckled. "Yeah, sounds like a big brother."

"Will you still join us for supper in the evening?" Queenie prompted.

Twitching a smile, Jacob gave a half-shrug. "Aren't you worried about a No-Maj exposing the magical world?"

Queenie laughed, and the sound reminded Jacob of cheery walks down New York's streets, with a small, mittened hand tucked into his own. "Oh, honey. Don't you know that Ilvemore School for Witches was founded by a witch and her No-Maj husband? You're one of us now!"

And so it was, that in the following spring, Queenie Goldstein became engaged to Jacob Kowalski. There was nothing left in New York City for Jacob, and both of the Goldstein sisters lost their taste for M.A.C.U.S.A. after the real Percival Graves was discovered in the headquarters' very own containment cells, locked away for months without even the president realizing he had been replaced.

To a No-Maj who had hovered on the brink of obliviation for months, Great Britain became the land of promise. All the reassurance that Jacob needed was the gentle tugging when Queenie wove her arm through his, and they strolled down London's streets together, fearless of the pointy-hats and robes which passed them by.

Jacob thought that the triumph of his life would be the day when he finally hung the sign beside Queenie's fashion parlor: _Kowalski's Fantastic Baked Goods_. He and Queenie had tasted and tested for a year after their marriage, polishing Jacob's recipes to cater to British preferences. Jacob himself researched magizoology, finally understanding the clever beasts which Newt had described to him. With new inspirations he and Queenie folded dough into bounding rabbits, wriggling nifflers, proud erumpets, puffing nundus, and scores of roaring, braying, bellowing, squeaking, chirping, cooing, chattering, lively edible beasts.

Polishing the glass counter as a stream of eleven-year-olds in their new robes streamed out of the bakery, Jacob snatched a chocolate frog before it could melt into the cinnamon glaze, and pondered the satisfaction of his new life. He received letters from Chastity every month, telling him how Modesty was enrolled in Ilvemore, and Credence was being privately tutored by a travelling wizard. Jacob now had a beautiful wife who tended her own business part time, and helped him in the bakery with the same enthusiasm as if she was born a miller's daughter. He was welcomed by many in the magical community, and while others looked down their noses at "muggles," they weren't trying to obliviate him, either. He even had a monthly commission from the famous Honeydukes, requesting three hundred peanut butter chocolate "buckeyes" - an American novelty that fascinated the young students of Hogwarts.

Jacob didn't think he could be much happier.

The bell tinkled above the door, and he heard small, limber feet prancing on the linoleum. Youngsters found the bakery to be a popular hangout after their lessons. This one seemed to be in a hurry to drag his guardian inside.

"Look! Look! Ko-Kow-al-ski. Theseus, come _on!"_

His hand freezing on the counter, Jacob slowly straightened and looked towards the door. A flash of blue darted back outside, followed by a child's incessant clamoring and an amiable, patient response. The bell rang again as clomping rainboots skidded into the shop. Curls aflurry, yellow scarf flapping around him, little six-year-old Newt Scamander gaped at the rows of animated treats and drizzled chocolates.

"Oh! Oh, Theseus! Theseus, the bunny! The bunny!"

With a solemn shake of his head, the dark-haired wizard approached the counter. "You want the rabbit, Newton?"

"Babbity Rabbity!" Newt exclaimed, looking up eagerly at Jacob. Immediately his smile faded into mum silence.

Troubled by the boy's response, Jacob gave a feeble smile. "Uh… Long time since I've seen you hunting dragons, kid. I guess you don't remember me…."

Fervent hazel eyes latched onto Theseus, and the child slowly backed into his older sibling. "Thesey" Newt lisped, tugging on the elder's trouser leg.

Merry blue eyes twinkled at Jacob's unease. "Theseus Scamander," the wizard greeted, stepping forward to shake Jacob's hand. "I searched all of New York City for news of your whereabouts, and finally found your name listed here in London." His firm grip echoed a winter season of fear and loss, wondering if a bright star would be glimpsed on his horizon again. "You know there was a reward for finding him."

Jacob's mouth went dry and his knees locked. "I didn't do it for no reward," he said stiffly. "I just wanted to get the kid back home."

"I know." Theseus looked down at Newt, who had tired of his inattentiveness and was now yanking on his brother's arm. "You know, he's never stopped talking about you. I didn't tell him you were here. My compliments: I've never seen him silenced in my entire life."

"I… guess I left a good impression," Jacob said, his smile spreading into a sheepish grin.

"Perhaps," Theseus said wryly. "He hasn't slept in his own bed since we left New York City; I had to convince the house elf to pad up a basket in the corner. Was that also your doing?"

Blank-faced, Jacob answered, "No, that was the niffler."

"Pudsey!" Newt crowed, understanding one word in the conversation. His shyness overcome, he ducked under the counter and flung himself against Jacob's legs. "I got a fwooper!" he said cheerily, as though a full year and a half hadn't passed since their last correspondence. "And Theseus and me made pancakes - only the house elf made 'em and we ate 'em - and Theseus took me to see dragons, and they blewed fire all over, and I colored on the walls yesterday and Cobber got mad - that's our elf - and Theseus says I don't hafta be a minister but I have tah be an auror before I can be a mazoogist, cause they need so many spells tah catch animals, and I drawed three horntails today, and…."

Laughing, Jacob plucked up the six-year-old and pushed back the counter door. "Does he like cinnamon rolls?" he asked Theseus warmly. "I have a feeling this is going to take a while."


End file.
